My Funny Valentine
by Mimizuku9
Summary: How will the boys react when they find a book filled with smutty fanfic? Cartman investigates and Stan faces an emotional dilemma concerning his attraction for Kyle. Also, tons of fluff for Style, Creek. A sprinkle of Kenny/Kyle. And even just a teeny tiny smidgen of Kyman.
1. Ookie Mouth

'You guys! You guys! Seriously! You guys!'

Cartman panted as he took his usual spot among the other three at the bus stop.

'What is it, Cartman?' Kyle said in a weary voice.

Despite the fact that the boys were now in their final year of high school, a lot of things stayed pretty much the same. The only real notable difference was that the boys had grown in height and Kenny decided to forever ditch his orange parka- revealing a head of shimmery blonde hair and a mouth filthier than the floor he slept on.

Kyle still wore his signature hat – albeit a new and slightly less obnoxiously green ushanka. Stan hadn't changed much other than the fact that he was considerably taller and more built than the other boys. Cartman had lost some weight, although he was still the fattest – and most egocentric - kid in South Park.

'You won't believe it you guys! Take a look at this!'

Cartman presented to the three barely awake boys a book – or rather, a handmade booklet. It had a white cover, and was held together by staples. On the front the title 'My Ships' was scrawled in messy handwriting.

'You make that yourself, Cartman?' Kenny snickered.

'No!' Cartman scoffed. 'I got this in the mail. Everyone did. Didn't you guys get one?'

The other three boys stared indifferently, without saying a word.

'Get this.' Cartman continued anyway. 'The contents of this book are… descriptive.'

'Descriptive of what?' Stan asked.

Cartman opened his mouth to reply but then stopped short to carefully choose his words.

'Descriptive of things you would not want written in a book, Stan.'

There was a moment of silence. And then Kyle yawned, which really pissed Cartman off.

'You know what Kyle? If you want people buying this book and reading gay little stories about you then fine. But Stan, Kenny, and I are going to find out who did this and make them pay!'

'I didn't say anything, fatass!'

'Well, you know what? I'm going to humiliate you, Kyle! I am going to have you read that book and humiliate you!'

Cartman handed the booklet to Kyle, who was glaring at him. 'Go on. Read it, Kyle.'

Kyle he grabbed the booklet. 'Whatever it is, it's probably not half as bad as you're making it out to be, fatass.' He opened up the booklet and began to read.

_It was one late Saturday evening that Stan had gone over to Kyle's house. Kyle's parents had gone out, so the two were alone except for Kyle's baby brother. They sat in the living room and watched Terrence &amp; Phillip. Kyle threw back his head in laughter, causing his green ushanka to fall off and revealing a red mess of hair._

'Dude, that sounds just like us.' Stan said. 'Did you write this, Cartman?'

'No!' Cartman's face went red.

'Where did you get this?' Kyle looked at Cartman with a perplexed expression on his face.

'Just read on.' Cartman hastily replied.

_Stan's piercing blue eyes were fixed on his red-haired friend._

_'What is it?' Kyle asked._

_'You remember that game you told me about? The one you played with Kenny when he had chicken pox?'_

_'You mean Ookie Mouth?' Kyle chuckled._

_'Yeah. Let's play that game.'_

_Kyle was taken aback. 'Dude. You want to spit in each other's mouths for fun?'_

'Gay!' Kenny eagerly announced.' And that is a really fun game.'

'That's because you were the one spitting!' Kyle retorted.

Stan looked at the two in disbelief. 'You guys actually played Ookie Mouth?'

'Well, yeah.' said Kyle. 'Looking back on it though, I think it was just my mom trying to get me to catch chicken pox from Kenny.'

'Yeah, yeah. That's real nice, Kyle. Now finish the freaking' story!' Cartman was getting impatient.

'I don't think I want to continue.' Kyle was starting to feel uncomfortable.

'I'll read it then!' Kenny snatched the booklet a little too keenly, as if he was anticipating something.

_'We could play Ookie Mouth,' Stan inched towards Kyle. 'Or we could skip to the real fun stuff.' _

_Stan pulled the redhead towards him and pressed his lips onto Kyle's, as he -_

'Kenny!' Stan gaped.

'What? It's what's written on the page.'

Kyle was attempting to pull his hat over his face to hide himself from the world, but to no avail.

'Man, Kyle. I didn't know you were so kinky!' Kenny smirked.

'What did I tell you, Kyle? I bet you feel pretty embarrassed now! Hahahaha haaha! Nananana naana!'

'Dude, someone wrote this and sent it to everyone? I didn't get one.' Stan looked at Cartman.

'Neither did I.' Kenny added.

'You will soon. For all you know, your parents at home are reading it right now!' Cartman replied.

'Shit! I can't have my mom see this! She'll kill me!' Kyle wailed.

'Calm the fuck down, Kyle!' Cartman shook the red haired boy. 'We just need to stop it at the source! Expose whoever did this, and make them eat their parents!'

Cartman was dead serious when he said this, and the other three boys knew that all too well.

'Why do you care if someone's reading these, fatass?' Kyle glared at Cartman.

'Because, Kyle, someone out there is making us look gay. I'm not going to stand by and let that happen, because it's wrong! It's wrong!'

'Us?' Kyle asked. 'What do you mean by 'us'?'

Before Cartman could answer the bus had arrived. The four boys sat in their usual seats but there was no further discussion of the mysterious book called 'My Ships'.

Instead, Stan and Kyle sat together in silence. Cartman sat on his own devising his next plan of action. And Kenny was delighted to sit at the back of the bus and absorb every lovely, smutty detail of this glorious new book.


	2. Cartman Investigates

**Here's chapter 2!**

**also, for some super suave and jazzy atmosphere 'Chinatown Love Theme' by Jerry Goldsmith **

**hope you enjoy! :3**

* * *

_It was a dull morning in the small town of South Park, the murky grey sky forecasting yet another typical winter day in Colorado. The weather wasn't always dreary, but you sure could count on South Park to get itself into some ridiculous mess of an affair. That's how it always was._

_I was gulping down a cup of joe in my office on this pretty average day, when I heard a rapping on the door. _

_'__Come in.'_

_A pair of legs longer than the Brooklyn Bridge made their way toward me. As my eyes made their way up a slender figure, they came across the face of a green eyed doll. Two emeralds stared right back at me. Hair, red and tangled like fire. Boy, was I in trouble._

_'__You're Detective Cartman?' a soft voice purred. 'Because I've got a favor to ask of you.'_

_'__Take a seat, kitten. Care for a smoke?' _

_'__That's alright. I brought my own.' A slender hand brought a cigarette to a pair of voluptuous lips, lighting it with the other hand. _

_Green eyes flitted toward me. 'I need your skills as a private detective to find someone.'_

_The doll slapped onto the desk a manuscript. 'Namely the author of this.'_

_I puffed out a ring of smoke. 'Sorry, kitten. I don't run household errands. I catch murderers. Highbinders. Not mischievous little schoolboys who got too much time on their hands.'_

_'__Perhaps Benjamin Franklin could convince you otherwise.' A sly smile crept up on red lips as graceful hands presented a green wad._

_'__Hey, I might be your run of the mill sleazy detective, but I ain't that sleazy.'_

_A delicate eyebrow rose. 'Some other form of payment then…' The doll got up to sit on the desk and leaned in, all the while purring the words. '…might get your interest.'_

_'__Maybe.' I put out my cigarette and leaned forward, our faces almost touching. 'Too bad you're a Jew, Kyle Brofloski.'_

'That's not what happened, fatass!'

'You ruined the atmosphere, you fucking Jew!'

'Shut up, lard boy! Maybe if you didn't try to set up your stupid atmosphere, we'd still have twelve volunteers!'

The two looked at what audience had remained. Tweek, Butters, Kenny, and Stan had been seated patiently at the other end of the conference table in Cartman's basement.

'It looks like it's just us six then. Let's begin.' Cartman cleared his throat. 'As most of you already know, someone has distributed these books around South Park. We must find the culprit, and punish them. Make them rue the day they thought they could-'

'Poopsiekins, I brought snacks for you and your friends.' Cartman's mom came down the steps with a tray full of cookies and cheesy poofs.

'Shut up, Mom! I was in the middle of a speech!'

Cartman's mom eyed the booklet on the table. 'Oh, is that the lovely novel we got in the mail, hon? Mommy would like it back when you're done with it, sweetie.'

'Yeah, whatever, Mom. Now leave us!' Cartman sighed and took a moment to regain his composure. 'Right. So I was saying…. In order to accomplish this, I will assign roles. Kenny, you will read and inspect that book. Make sure you take note of details that can pinpoint who wrote it.'

'Woohoo!' Kenny immediately opened the booklet and began to read fervently.

'Whoever wrote this had to have made tons of copies from somewhere. Tweek, I need you to go to the photocopier place next to the Photo Dojo. Try and find out as much as you can from the guy who runs the place. I want names, dates, times, any kind of description of whoever made copies of this book.'

'Gah! I don't know if I can handle this kind of pressure!'

'Butters, you will be my assistant. Naturally, I will be chief investigator. Stan and Kyle… you guys do your normal hippie stuff. You know, make gay speeches about the ethical ramifications of writing gay books and shit.'

Stan made no objection. Kyle, on the other hand, was not satisfied. 'That's it? Our job is to make gay speeches? Dude, you gave Kenny a more important role and look at him!'

Kenny was salivating all over the booklet, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

'Hey! Kenny is integral to our mission!' Cartman retorted. 'So are you. Unless you want to read the gay book with Kenny, I suggest you make the best out of what you got, Kyle.'

'Come on, Stan.' Kyle grabbed Stan by the arm and pulled him out of his chair. 'We'll have our own investigation and find the culprit ourselves!'

'Fine! Screw you guys anyway!' Cartman yelled as the two walked up the stairs to leave. 'I hate Stan and Kyle! I hate them!'

* * *

'Can I stay over at your house today?'

Stan looked over at Kyle. 'Something wrong?'

The two had been walking home for about twenty minutes now. Their houses were actually not that far from Cartman's, but Stan and Kyle had made their own special route that essentially took them all around South Park before getting home. It was one of the many ways that the two had devised so that they could spend even more time together.

'Does something have to be wrong to stay over at your house?' Kyle wrapped his arms around himself tightly.

'No… It's just…. You look more pissed off than usual. But you're not saying much.'

Kyle hesitated before responding. 'I don't really want to go home. Not if my parents have that book. I don't know how they'll respond.'

'You really think they'll take a crappy looking booklet that seriously? Besides, it's not like they have a reason to get mad at you. If anything, I'd expect your mom to go on a rampage at the next PTA meeting about it and that would be it. No reason to worry.' Stan nudged Kyle playfully.

'Thanks, Stan.' Kyle smiled softly. 'But I'd still rather see your dad's reaction.'

'Yeah, that's going to be fun.' Stan said in a sarcastic tone. 'As if he doesn't already think I'm bicurious. One time he even told me I needed to make new friends because people would think you and I are 'funny' from spending so much time together.'

'Funny?'

'You know… gay.'

'Oh. ' Kyle went quiet.

'What's wrong this time?' Stan asked after a moment's silence.

'What do you mean?'

'Dude, you're all red! Is it that cold?' Stan stopped walking.

'What? No. I mean yes. I- I don't know.' Kyle's face blushed even more.

Stan chuckled. 'If you're cold just say so. Here.' Stan gave Kyle his jacket.

'No, you don't have to. I'm fine!'

'I insist.' Stan wrapped his jacket around Kyle's shoulders.

'What about you?'

'I'll be okay. We're almost at my house anyway.'

* * *

'Stanley, has Mr. Garrison ever tried to…' Randy Marsh hesitated for a moment. '… Get queer with you?'

'Randy!' Sharon hissed across the dinner table.

'What? Don't you think it's weird that every time our boys change classes, their new teacher conveniently disappears or dies and Mr. Garrison _happens _to step in?'

'Randy, that happened _once_ when Stan was in 4th grade.' Sharon exasperated.

'Yeah. And it happened again this year. _And_ that gay book ends up in our mail. Coincidence? I don't think so.'

Stan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had secretly hoped his parents wouldn't give any attention to the dodgy looking book called 'My Ships', but it was stupid of him to even think that it would go unnoticed.

Kyle looked at Stan worriedly, thinking that if his parents somehow missed the strange booklet in their mail, they would surely hear about it from the Marshes.

'Anyway,' Sharon regained her composure and said, 'What your father meant to ask, Stanley, is whether Mr. Garrison – or anyone else – has … made you uncomfortable?'

'No, Mom.' Stan answered curtly and continued to poke at the mush on his plate. It used to be meatloaf and baked potatoes, but at some point Stan had gotten lost in thought and completely obliterated his dinner.

'Dude, are you gonna eat that?' Kyle's fork was already stealing remnants of baked potatoes off Stan's plate. Kyle was also too preoccupied with his food to acknowledge Stan's parent's concerns.

'Boys, we found a book in the mail today. It was….' Sharon shuddered. 'Very graphic and disturbing. Did you know anything about this? Be honest, I promise we won't get mad.'

The two boys stayed silent.

'Stan…' Randy was getting aggravated.

Stan continued to probe his food.

Randy banged his fist on the table. 'Dammit, Stan. Give us something! Anything! If our son is going to be in some gay pornography then we deserve to know! I'm not going to let some pervert use you in his sick fantasies!'

'It's not some pervert!' Kyle burst out, only realizing what he was doing when the words had already left his mouth. 'I mean… it's someone in our class. It's just a stupid prank.'

Randy was stunned. 'Stan. Go to your room. Kyle, you should probably head home.'

'He's staying. Come on, Kyle.' Stan got up from his chair and stormed off. Kyle followed. He didn't want to face his parents. If Randy Marsh had a fit about the book, he couldn't even begin to imagine what his mother's reaction would be like.

'Leave them.' Sharon put her hand on Randy's shoulder.

The two boys hurried into Stan's room, glad to get away from the dinner table. Stan closed the door and locked it.

'Why'd you do that?' Kyle looked at Stan.

'My mom's gonna try to have a 'talk' with me anytime soon. I'm not in the mood for it.'

'Oh…' Kyle looked around awkwardly. 'So… are we staying up? Watch a movie maybe?'

Stan rubbed his eyes. 'I've got a headache. Just wanna go to sleep.' He fell onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow. 'You can borrow my pajamas if you want. Your spare toothbrush is probably lying around somewhere, too.'

Kyle grabbed a shirt and sweatpants from a drawer and started to change. 'Don't look, okay?'

'What?' Stan lifted his head up from his pillow. Kyle wasn't wearing his shirt.

'Dude, what did I just say!?' Kyle yelped as he tried to pick his clothes back up.

'Okay, okay. I'm sorry.' Stan covered his face as it heated up.

The sound of clothes rustling stopped, but he kept his face hidden partially from precaution and partially from embarrassment. He heard the light switch click, followed by the presence of a weight next to him on the bed.

'Stan, its okay to look now.'

Stan peeked through his hands before slowly removing them. Kyle had already gotten under the covers and made himself comfortable.

'Why are you still wearing your hat?' Stan tugged at Kyle's green ushanka.

'I like it.'

'Doesn't it get annoying when you sleep?'

'Doesn't yours?' Kyle tugged at Stan's hat in retaliation.

'Yeah, but I don't always wear it.' Stan took off his hat to reveal ebony black hair. 'Let me see your hair.' said Stan, knowing full well how much Kyle' hated his hair.

'No.' Kyle held on to his hat.

'Come on.'

'I said no.'

'Please?' Stan looked at Kyle intently, as if he could somehow persuade him with his blue-eyed gaze.

'…Okay. But only for a second.' Kyle began to lift off his hat as red curls sprung out.

Stan stifled a chortle. Kyle's red mass of hair had grown exponentially since the last time he removed his hat in front of Stan.

'Don't laugh!' Kyle fumed.

'I'm sorry. It's just…. I mean, look at that!' Stan tousled a red curl off of Kyle's head. 'It's so curly! It's like a ginger afro!'

'Quit messing with me!' Kyle went to put his hat back on.

'No, no, no, no. I'm not messing with you!' Stan held on to the ushanka. 'I actually like your hair.' Stan looked at Kyle with sincerity.

The red head considered his words for a moment, before bursting into laughter. 'Dude, this is so gay!'

'We're super best friends. I think we can excuse the occasional gay moment.'

'Okay, fine. The hat stays off. For now.' Kyle nudged closer to Stan as he nestled his head into the pillow. 'Goodnight, Stan.'

'Goodnight.'

Kyle had already closed his eyes, but Stan took a moment to look at his friend. He wasn't lying when he said he liked Kyle's hair. He really did. He wanted to caress the fire red locks of hair, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

He completely forgot that he was mad at his parents. All he could think about now was Kyle and his tousled ginger hair. He fell asleep to the sounds of Kyle's soft breaths next to him, with fire red curls entangling his dreams.


	3. The Interrogation

'Now children, who can describe Hannibal Lector and Will Graham's complex relationship to me? '

The class stared blankly, as they always did in Mr. Garrison's lessons.

'No one? Well, Hannibal Lector is totally gay for Will, but Will's only interested in poontang. And so you see, children, this is what we call…'

Stan had tuned out about forty-five minutes ago, when Mr. Garrison had forgotten that this was a math class. He rolled his pencil across his desk until it dropped. No one even turned to look.

He looked over to Kyle. He had his head buried into the math textbook, dutifully completing the practice questions he seemed to have assigned for himself. Kyle was studious as always.

Cartman wasn't in his usual seat. Butters and Craig were missing too. Stan wondered what that was all about.

'Psst. Hey.'

Stan turned around. 'What, Kenny?'

'According to this book, Kyle's always had a thing for my Casanova looks.' Kenny looked quite pleased with this new finding.

'Why are you telling me this? And… you know it's not real, right?' Stan was a little concerned that Kenny would take his new obsession too far. Like the one time he got high on cat piss.

'Yeah, but… there's this other bit where I serenade him, and Kyle totally falls in love with me.' Kenny's sky blue eyes glinted. 'And then fun times are had in the janitor's closet.'

'Aw-awww.' Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to picture the image Kenny had just described.

'You jelly?'

'Am I what?'

'Jealous. Of Kyle's undying love for me.' Kenny beamed.

'Dude. He's not in love with you. It's a story.'

'Stanley, how would you like to answer the question?' Mr. Garrison looked at him disapprovingly. 'Or were you too busy chatting away?

Stan stammered and said, 'Uh…what was the question?'

'I said, to what extent is Will Graham bicurious?'

'Um… he's… not?'

'No!' Mr. Garrison snapped. 'No, that's wrong! Will Graham…' Mr. Garrison proceeded to write the words out on the board. '…is a bicurious to a fair extent. You see, while Will Graham does have a preference for poontang, he also fantasizes about having homosexual relations with Hannibal. You could say that he's a bisexual in denial, a classic dilemma within the human psyche in today's crime dramas.'

None of what Mr. Garrison said registered in Stan's mind, nor did he want it to.

'Alright, class. Lesson is over.'

Stan sunk further into his chair as he sighed out of relief. Each lesson was getting increasingly more absurd than the last ever since Mr. Garrison stepped in as their new math teacher.

'What were you guys talking about?' Kyle stood over his desk.

'Just about how smexy you are.' Kenny jumped in between the two, smirking.

'Did he just say 'smexy'?' Kyle looked at Stan.

'Don't listen to him.' Stan rubbed the temples of his forehead. 'All he does is read that book. He's starting to talk like he's in one of those…stories.'

'Er…okay.' Kyle wasn't sure what to make of it. 'Did your parents get any word from mine? I haven't seen them since yesterday morning.'

'No. But if they didn't call, they probably haven't found the book.'

Kenny looked at the two. 'Wait, what's going on? Kyle's run away?'

'What? No!' Kyle snapped.

'He stayed over at my house yesterday.' said Stan.

'Oh…' Kenny considered this for a moment. 'Ohhhhh….. I get it now.' The blonde grinned as he nodded and said, 'You guys got together, huh?'

'Kenny, what the fuck!?' Kyle flushed.

'Dude, quit reading into everything. It's getting annoying.' Stan looked at Kenny with a tired expression.

'Okay. Okay. I get it. Nothing happened.' Kenny stayed quiet for a minute. 'But if you need anything, Kyle – anything at all – I'm here for you.' The blonde put his arm around Kyle.

The surprised redhead looked at Kenny, blushing slightly. 'Thanks, Kenny. That's… really nice.'

'And I mean anything. You know, money – if I have any, that is– a place to stay, sexual fav-'

Kyle put his hand over Kenny's mouth. 'Never mind. I take it back.'

Stan's stomach growled. 'I'm starving.'

'Fuck! What was that?' Kyle quickly pulled his hand away from Kenny's mouth. 'Did you just bite me?!'

'What can I say?' Kenny shrugged nonchalantly. 'You taste nice.' He winked at Kyle.

'Ugh…' Kyle rolled his eyes. 'Let's just go and eat lunch already.'

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny started to make their way to the cafeteria.

'Hey, where's Cartman?' Kenny asked.

Kyle grinned. 'Who cares? I can finally eat my lunch without that fatass annoying the shit out of me!' 

* * *

'Give him the bucket.'

Ice cold water poured down on his already soaking wet hair. He gasped for air as the water streamed down his face, leaving it numb. This was the third time he had refused to answer their question.

A tubby brunette grabbed him by the collar of his blue jacket. 'I'll ask you again, Craig. What do you know of the book called 'My Ships'?'

Craig said nothing. Why should he answer? If it wasn't for the fact that he was tied up in his chair, he would have flipped Cartman off by now.

'I-I don't know, Eric. Maybe he doesn't know anything. Poor fella…'

Cartman turned towards the timid blonde, who stood in the corner of the room holding a bucket, looking ashamed. Despite the fact that he was seventeen years old, Butters still maintained a fragile and innocent disposition, making him seem much younger than he actually was.

'Oh, he does know, Butters. He knows everything. He's just not telling us because he thinks he's so much cooler than the rest of us. Isn't that right, Craig?'

Two blue eyes stared blankly at Cartman. Silence.

'God-fucking-dammit!' Cartman released Craig's jacket from his grip. 'Give him the chair!'

Butters looked horrified. 'N-N-No! I won't!'

'Butters…' Cartman glared at the blonde.

'I can't! What if he gets real hurt?'

'You are the Chief Investigator's assistant and you will do as I say! Respect my authoritah!'

Craig looked at Butters, who was now twiddling his thumbs nervously. He almost felt sorry for him. But for the most part, he was tired of sitting in this chair.

'Okay. I'll tell you everything.' Craig stated monotonously. 'But only if you untie me.'

'Pfft! Yeah, like I'm going to do that!' Cartman snickered.

'Then I guess you won't find out.' Craig said as he looked at Cartman vacantly.

'He's not gonna tell us anything if we –uh– throw water on him again. Maybe we should untie him. I mean, we've been going at this interrogation thing since nine o'clock and I'm getting awful hungry.' said Butters.

'Fine. But no tricks, Craig.' Cartman proceeded to undo the knot of rope behind Craig's chair.

Craig stretched his arms out as the rope loosened.

'Now tell us everything.'

Craig raised his middle finger defiantly.

'Motherfucker!' Cartman pounced onto the blue eyed boy, knocking him and the chair over as he punched him in the face repeatedly.

'Aagh! Stop it!' Butters wailed. 'We can't –uh– get found out or I'll get grounded!'

Craig kicked Cartman between his legs as he struggled to free himself.

Cartman doubled over. 'Gah! Breaking my balls here, Butters! Help!'

The door opened. Everyone froze.

'I see you guys are getting some action in the janitor's closet. No one invited me.'

'Oh…' Butters sighed out of relief. 'Hi, Kenny.'

Craig stood up to leave the room, but then stopped short. He turned back towards Cartman. 'I haven't read the book. But if you want someone who has, ask Wendy and Bebe. All they do is talk about it.'

Craig flipped Cartman off once more, and left.

Kenny's eyes followed Craig out of the room. 'Damn, that's hot.'

'Kenny, what the fuck's wrong with you? You sound like a chick.' Cartman said as he got up and brushed himself off. 'Why are you here anyway?'

'Got bored. Thought I'd take a walk and then I heard you guys wrestling… Only it wasn't the kind of wrestling I'd hoped it was.' Kenny sighed. 'By the way, Cartman, have you read the last chapter of 'My Ships'?'

Cartman glared at Kenny. 'Why are you asking?'

'Just curious as to what you thought of it.' Kenny smiled slyly.

'What happened in the last chapter?' Butters asked.

'Well…' Kenny chuckled. 'Let's just say there's Cartman and a certain ginger in a frilly maid's outfit involved in … shall we say, vigorous exercise.'

'What do you mean?' Butters frowned.

'Don't listen to him, Butters.' Cartman's face was flushed. 'It's just his filthy mind speaking, don't let it taint you!'

Butters looked at Kenny with a confused look. 'Vigorous exercise? You mean like… running a marathon or something?'

'In a way.' Kenny was intrigued by the blonde's naivety. 'Want to find out?'

'Kenny, cut the crap!' Cartman snapped. 'Come on, you guys. We need to find Wendy and Bebe and get this investigation going.' 

* * *

'….Yeah so I was like, what the hell is that? And then Nicole shows me the Craig and Tweek story, and at first I thought it was really weird. But then I started thinking how hot it would actually be if Craig really did get together with Tweek. I mean…. That's not normal. But I totally love it.'

Wendy slammed her locker shut. 'I know what you mean, Bebe. Before I kind of thought it was wrong, you know invasion of privacy and all that. But then I thought, screw it. Like, have you read the story with us in it? It's so sick and perverted.'

'I know, right? With Craig and Tweek I thought it was really romantic, but the whole lesbian story was messed up.'

'Sorry to interrupt your chit chat, cissies,' Cartman barged into the conversation, dragging Kenny and Butters alongside him. 'But we've got some questions to ask you two.'

'What do you want?' Wendy hissed.

'We want answers.' Cartman held up the booklet. 'What do you know about this?'

'Just that whoever wrote that lesbian chapter is a sick pervert.' Bebe glared at Cartman accusingly.

'We're all victims here, Bebe.' Cartman rebutted. 'You think you're the only one humiliated by this? Ask Kenny. There's a shit ton of explicit detail about Kenny's junk in this book and now look at him.'

Kenny was busy hitting on Butters.

'So I was thinking if you wrote your phone number on my hand…' Kenny purred as he leaned in towards Butters. 'I could call you tonight in case of an 'emergency'. You know, homework emergencies and such.'

'Uh… sure, Kenny. If it's for school then I guess that's okay. We can be homework buddies.'

'I like the sound of that.' Kenny grinned.

Clearly the humiliation and degradation of starring in a smutty book was getting to Kenny.

'Okay, never mind. Bad example. But the point is that we're all in this together to find whoever's responsible.' Cartman looked at Wendy intently. 'Help us do that.'

Wendy hesitated for a moment before replying. 'There was something. Last week after the test on… gay real estate agents, Bebe and I found a piece of notebook paper on the floor. It was that exact same story in the booklet, the Stan and Kyle chapter. It even had the same orange border on the side of the page.'

'What happened to it? The paper?' Cartman asked.

Bebe opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the sound of Butters wailing.

'Gah! Kenny, don't touch me down there!'

'Kenny, what the fuck is wrong with you?' Cartman hit Kenny on the back of the head.

Kenny looked completely bewildered. 'Dude, I swear I didn't touch him!'

Butters was crying, and Wendy had just about enough.

'You know what? Never mind. Bebe and I have to go.'

'Going to the toilets?' Kenny smirked. 'Mind if I join?'

'Oh my god, Kenny! You're such a pervert!' Bebe shrieked.

'Wait! Wendy! Bebe! What happened to that paper?' Cartman yelled. The two girls walked on without responding. 'Dammit!'

Cartman grabbed Butters by the collar of his shirt. 'Butters, we need to find out what happened to that paper! Who wrote it? Who put it in that book? I want answers!'

'Dude. Calm down.' said Kenny.

Cartman let go of Butters. 'I'm going to find whoever did this. I will find them, and when I do… I'll make them pay. I'll make them pay.' 

* * *

**DUN DUN DUUUN... **

**also, thank you for the reviews! :3 **


	4. Benedict Bumperbatch

**I'm back! Sorry for the slight delay (blame school for that :P) but the fourth chapter is here and it's special because its all Creek! :3**

** The main storyline will continue after this chapter ... so don't worry, there will be more style/k2/kyman/pretty much all the pairings soon!**

**Also, thank you again for all the reviews! They're so lovely to read~ **

* * *

_Scorching flames roared, the blistering heat intensifying as the fire approached Tweek. He stood there motionless, his mind blank. By some miracle, he summed up the strength to turn around towards the exit._

_'Watson? Watson?' a dark haired man wailed. His shoulders shook as he knelt on the ground. 'Oh God! What have I done?'_

_ There was no saving him. He was beyond salvation. But Craig –_

_'Tweek! Tweek, where are you?' _

_'Craig?' Tweek snapped out of his trance. He had to find him._

_'Help! I'm stuck! I can't move a – aaagh!'_

_'Craig!' Tweek frantically searched the area. His eyes landed upon Craig's foot sticking out from underneath a giant photocopier. The blonde jumped over the flames and – with strength he never knew he possessed- lifted up the machine off of Craig, who was passed out on the floor._

_Tweek picked up the blue eyed boy. 'Oh Jesus!' he said, realizing the gravity of the situation. Even so, he cast aside his fear and leapt through the wall of fire separating him and Craig from safety. He burst out through the doors, landing safely outside. _

_But he didn't stop there. Tweek kept running with Craig in his arms, until the building exploded with a loud rumble, pushing the two boys into the air._

_Tweek fell hard onto the ground and rolled from the impact, all the while holding onto Craig tightly._

_'Tweek...?' Two blue eyes fluttered open._

_'Yeah?' Tweek panted. This was the most exhilarating, dangerous thing he had ever done in his life._

_'You're my hero.' Craig pulled Tweek in for a passionate ki-_

'Gah!' Tweek quickly shut the book, trembling. He wasn't sure if this was because he was shocked or excited. Either way, he couldn't read stuff like this in public. Even if he was reading it in a bathroom stall, keeping it concealed inside a history textbook. It just felt wrong. Especially when you said 'good morning' to your classmate and all you could think about was... well, whatever it was that they were doing in that book.

_Oh Jesus, there's something wrong with me. Maybe it's some form of psychosis – like in that movie with Matt Damon where the dude was infatuated with his friend and ended up killing him – OH GOD._

Tweek shook his head to try and remove the thought from his head, but it was already imprinted in his mind.

He sighed as he ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair, which he had grown out to shoulder length. It wasn't so much that he wanted a 'surfer' look; it was more of the case that he was actually terrified of the hairdressers. There was a... incident. Long story short, he was convinced the barber was out to get him. But that fear couldn't match the panic in his chest whenever he thought about that book. Or Craig.

'Okay. Just relax, Tweek. Let the thought pass. Just let it through and it'll leave you alone. Let it through and it'll leave you alone. Let it through...'

After a moment of repeating his mantra, he stuffed away the book in his bag and unlocked the stall.

He opened the door, only to find a menacing shadow in his way.

'Tweek, what are your findings on the investigation?'

The nervous blonde jumped up like a cat. 'Gah! Um-'Tweek stammered. 'N-Nothing. I don't have any findings.'

Cartman stepped closer. 'Why the hell not?'

'I don't know! Aagh! It's too much pressure!' He had completely forgotten about the investigation. Not that he was particularly committed. To his embarrassment, he was actually enjoying the book in some strange, messed up way.

_I'm such a sick pervert._

'Look. I need that information.' Cartman seethed. 'If you haven't gone to the photocopier place and back – with findings - by three o'clock today, I'm gonna kick you in the nuts so hard you'll squeal like a little piggy. Now if you don't mind, I've got an interrogation to run.'

And with that, the chubby brunette slammed the stall door in Tweek's face, leaving him distraught.

'Jesus Christ!' Tweek shrieked. 'What am I going to do?'

Luckily it was just before first period, so he still had plenty of time to do something about it.

* * *

It was lunchtime. And Tweek still hadn't done anything about it. He was just sitting at the lunch table munching away, wasting precious time.

His stomach churned in the awful way it did when you felt like something bad was going to happen. He felt it almost every day, and yet he never got used to it. It was always a fresh and unsettling feeling.

_All I need to do is go to the place next to the Photo Dojo, ask some questions, then come back and tell Cartman. How bad could it be?_

_Really bad._

_But if I don't go, Cartman will kill me._

_But if I do go, I'll mess up the questions. Or I won't get any information. Or someone might follow me home. Or someone might try to kill me. Or- _

'Aagh!' Tweek grasped his head as he shook violently. 'I can't handle this kind of pressure!'

Clyde, Token, and Jimmy, who had been sitting at the same table throughout Tweek's entire mini-breakdown, stared in concern.

'Dude, what's wrong?' Clyde asked half-heartedly, his attention mostly gathered on removing the pepper topping from his pizza.

'N-Nothing. Nothing's wrong.'

'Where's Craig? Is he sick?' said Token.

'He couldn't be.' Jimmy answered. 'I s-saw him this m-morning before first p-puh-puh-period. I mean, come on.'

The other three then went on to talk about some car racing stuff that Tweek wasn't all that into. He tried to follow the conversation, but his mind kept coming back to Cartman's words. He didn't want to get his nuts kicked so hard he would squeal like a little piggy.

But he couldn't be afraid anymore. He had to do this.

_Okay. I'm going._

Tweek couldn't budge.

_Maybe later._

He sat and waited, but his palms were all sweaty and he was squeezing his cold hands together so tightly they were starting to ache. He couldn't breathe. And then he started to think about Craig. The bad thoughts were coming back.

_Screw that. I'm going now. Right now._

'Gah! You guys, I –uh- need the bathroom.' Tweek stumbled out of his seat and walked shakily out of the cafeteria.

_I can't believe I'm doing this. _

As he made his way down the hallway, he heard someone yelling. It sounded like Cartman. Tweek walked a little faster. Cartman did not sound happy, and he wanted no part of it. A loud bang echoed in the hallway.

Startled, he started running, turning his head back as if someone might follow any time soon.

He was suddenly stopped short by something. Turning his head, his nose bumped into something

He then realized that 'something' was Craig's chest.

_Oh Jesus._

Tweek timidly looked up until he met two steel blue eyes. Craig was soaking wet, droplets trickling off his hair. He looked miserable.

'What are you doing?' Craig looked at Tweek vacantly.

At that moment Tweek felt like his heart was about to beat so hard it would jump out of his throat. 'Aagh! Uh- nothing. Just-Just going to the bathroom.'

'The bathroom's the other way.'

_Shit. _What was he supposed to say now? _This is bad. This is bad. My head's gonna explode. _

Tweek wracked his brains for an excuse. Any excuse. But nothing came to mind, so he just stood there shaking like a leaf.

Craig didn't even seem to mind. He took off his wet jacket to reveal a white tank top and started to wring out the hoodie to dry it out a little.

The blonde couldn't help but ogle at how well built Craig was. Tweek mentally slapped himself. _I shouldn't do that. It's wrong. It's sick. Besides, I still haven't explained myself. Think, Tweek, think._

The dark haired boy put his hoodie back on and looked thoughtfully at Tweek, who was gnawing at his nails nervously, before breaking the silence with his monotonous voice.

'Maybe if you stopped trying to make up an excuse and told me the truth you wouldn't be so scared shitless.'

'Uh…' Tweek considered his words, finding the logic in them to be comforting somehow. 'I'm s-supposed to go to this place next to the Photo Dojo to get some information for Cartman, but if I don't he's gonna –aagh! - kill me! But I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm even gonna get any information.'

'I'll go with you.'

Tweek looked up. 'W-What?' He couldn't have heard that right.

'I said; I'll go with you.' Craig said earnestly. He wasn't joking.

'Why?'

'Just cuz'. You want me to tag along or what?'

'Gah! O-okay!' Tweek was starting to tremble, feeling a flutter in his chest. _Let the bad thought pass. Let it pass. Let it pass and it'll go away._

Only it didn't go away.

* * *

The two had been walking in silence for what Tweek felt was about half an hour. Then again, it could have easily been only two minutes. His thoughts were so frenzied and tangled he could no longer tell how much time had passed by, let alone make sense of the fact that Craig was willingly spending time with him.

'What was that?' Craig asked.

'I-I didn't say anything!' _Shit. Did I accidently speak my thoughts out loud? _Tweek deliberated on whether he really was crazy enough to say things and not remember, until he realized Craig was staring at him.

Tweek turned to look back at Craig, his brown eyes meeting Craig's intensely blue ones for a fleeting moment.

The dark haired boy chuckled.

'W-What?' Tweek flustered.

'You look so terrified.' Craig teased. 'Why are you so afraid?'

'I'm not!'

Craig moved closer to Tweek. The blonde flinched.

'You are.'

Tweek kept his gaze on the pavement he was walking on, his face burning.

Craig stopped in his tracks. 'Hey.'

Reluctantly, Tweek turned around to look at Craig, although he still refused to look at him.

'You shouldn't be nervous.' said Craig. 'Look, I know I can be a dick, but... honestly, you're the closest I've ever had to a friend.' The dark haired boy rubbed the back of his neck. 'So... could we just hang out?'

'...Yeah.' Tweek wasn't sure what to make of it. Since when was Craig so... lonely? Not that Craig was the type to socialise much - in fact he often just kept to himself. Tweek always assumed that Craig didn't care, that he liked being that way.

_I guess I was wrong._

They resumed walking, albeit a little closer together. _Not too close. Too close and those... thoughts will come back._

'So, Tweek ... You got a girlfriend?' Craig asked.

'Oh Jesus!' The blonde's eyes widened. 'Why are you asking me that!?'

'It's just a question.' Craig shrugged. 'I'm trying to make conversation.'

Tweek calmed down a little. 'Well... no. I don't.'

'Why?'

'What do you mean 'why'?!'

'I don't know. Maybe you're terrible with the ladies. Maybe you're just shy. Or maybe you're not interested. Which one is it?'

'Not interested...?' Tweek looked at Craig with a puzzled look. _What could he mean by 'not interested'?_

'Ah...so that's why.'

'What?! I-I don't understand!'

'You're into guys.'

Tweek noticed that this was more of a statement than a question, at which he went ballistic.

'When did I say that?!'

Craig glanced at the blonde.

'What kind of guys are you into?'

Tweek's face felt like it was on fire. The trembling intensified. _Oh Jesus. Not the bad thoughts. Keep the bad thoughts away. Away. Away. Away._

Craig read the panic on Tweek's face. 'Hey, no pressure. If you don't want to talk about it, we can talk about something else.'

'B-But I'm not-' _Who was he even kidding?_

'Is this it?' Craig stopped by a small building. A scrappy looking sign on a fractured glass door read 'No Help Wanted'. The windows were smothered in handmade posters, depicting smiling stick men drinking tea. Not exactly what you'd expect of a photocopying office.

Tweek through the glass door. 'I guess. It's next to the Photo Dojo and its got lots of paper and photocopiers and stuff.'

'Let's go in.'

'What?! Not yet! We have to –uh- assess the situation first.' Tweek trembled.

Craig gave the blonde a steely eyed look. He wasn't buying it.

'We're going.' Craig grabbed Tweek by the arm and pulled him into the building.

As the two walked in, a bell rung. Within a short moment a tall dark haired man hurried to the front desk.

'How can I help you?' A pale face gave the two boys a plastered smile. His left eyebrow twitched spastically.

Tweek did not like this guy one bit. _What if he tries to sexually assault us? I'm not prepared for situation like that. Oh God what am I -_

'We're here to see whoever's in charge.' Craig asked, noticing that Tweek was absolutely terrified. 'Ask a couple of questions.'

_Wait a minute. I recognize this guy ..._

'Aren't you Benedict Bumberpatch?' said Tweek.

'Who the fuck is that?' said Craig.

The dark haired man took offense. 'It's Benedict _Cumber_batch.' Then the man paused. 'Er- and I have no idea who you're talking about. I am Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.' He enunciated each syllable emphatically. 'I've got Watson around here somewhere, too. Watson!'

No one came. Tweek looked at Craig uncertainly.

Sherlock whipped out a crudely handmade puppet. 'Oh, there you are, you buffoon! I'm sorry; I meant average—sized brain man! Ahahahahaha!' The man broke into a high-pitched laughter.

'Dude, this guy is freaking crazy!' Tweek whispered to Craig.

'Just ask the questions and we can go.' Craig hissed back.

'Gah!' Tweek shrieked. _Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus. I can't do it. This guy's going to kill me, and then sell Craig to some third world country where they'll use him as a sacrifice for satanic rituals and - OH GOD._

_But If I wanna get out of here and not die, I have to get the information. Because if I don't then Cartman's going to kick me in the nuts so hard I'll squeal like a little piggy._

_I have to._

_I have to._

'Go on.' Craig put his hand on Tweek's shoulder encouragingly.

'Aagh! Okay. You. Crazy guy.' Tweek looked directly into the man's blue eyes, glazed over with madness. 'Has anyone, say around two days ago, made tons of copies of this booklet called 'My Ships'?'

Sherlock took a moment to contemplate this. 'So you're saying that someone came in here two days ago, made approximately 97 copies of this novella-'

'You're seriously calling it a novella?' Craig was not impressed.

'SHH! Let me finish, little man, I'm trying to reach my Mind Palace.' Sherlock's eyes were starting to look even more bewildered, despite the careful calculations that were running through his head.

'The what?' Craig interjected.

'Just let the man speak, goddammit, so we can go home!' The blonde shrieked. 'Ah! I'm so sorry!' Tweek quickly added, noting Craig's slightly bemused look.

'Yes. I see it all.' The dark haired man contemplated. 'It was a man who came through here at around 9:00. Yes, he was wearing something unusual. Shiny and flamboyant. I believe he was gay. Gayer than dear Watson, I'm afraid.'

'Hey! I don't appreciate that!' A high pitched voice from Sherlock added, as the puppet wiggled in agitation.

'Shuttup, moustache man – There could only have been one person here on the late night shift two days ago. That person had the authority to make as many copies of the novella as he wanted. But not only that, he had the authority to remove any traces of the original request. The gay man walked in at 9:00 and asked to make 97 copies of a book, with the cover art. At 9:15, Watson had left to get some McDonald's, giving the culprit a window of opportunity to destroy the receipt. By the time Watson came back and the copies had been finished, the receipt was gone. The gay man walked away with the copies, but not the cover art. The culprit wanted the cover art to himself. Beautiful, gorgeous, cover art.'

Sherlock shuddered in ecstasy.

Tweek took a step back. _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea..._

The dark haired man continued. 'The only one who could have been both at the till with the authority to make the copies, and destroy the receipt, was –'

Sherlock looked at the puppet in disbelief. 'No, no, no, no, no. That means the culprit was… me.'

'What the fuck, man.' Craig didn't know what to make of it.

'Wait, what cover art?' Tweek asked. 'The book didn't have a cover.'

Sherlock ignored the question. 'Watson, did you know? Oh God. It really was me.'

'I'm so sick of your shit, Sherlock. You and your big, fat piles upon piles of BULLSHIT.' The puppet shrieked. 'You know what? I'm done with your stupid, degrading, dehumanising, smartass insults.'

'I thought we were friends!' Sherlock's lip trembled. 'What about all those good times we had? Yes, I was a bit of an arsehole-'

'No shit, Sherlock. NO SHIT. That's it. I'm done. I'm done.' The puppet pulled out a match, lit it, and then set fire to itself.

'Aaagh! Watson, no! You blabber mouthing idiot!' Sherlock whipped off the puppet and threw it across the room, setting a pile of papers on fire, all the while screaming in agonising emotional pain.

'Oh, Jesus! Someone call the fire department!' Tweek yelped.

Sherlock wailed as he grabbed a bottle of gasoline and poured it around himself. 'Watson! I love you!'

Craig ran to the phone next to the photocopier. 'I'll call for help, you get out of here!'

'What about Sherlock?!' Tweek looked worriedly at the man who was still dousing himself in gasoline and tears, screaming Watson's name.

'Screw Sherlock! You need to get out of here!' Craig yelled.

Tweek stumbled his way towards the exit, unsettled by the fact that he or Craig could very well die.

_I can't leave him. What if something bad happens? What if he gets hurt or worse?_

Tweek was surprised by this thought. He didn't want Craig to get hurt? Craig, the guy who picked a fight with him in the 3rd grade, who kept flipping people off, who made Tweek feel more nervous and anxious than anything else in the world?

_I can't deal with this right now. I can't. I can't. I can't._

A loud thud snapped Tweek out of his momentary nervous breakdown.

'Aagh! Tweek, I'm-' Craig was cut off.

'Craig?' Tweek panicked. 'Craig, where are you?' The whole place was engulfed in flames and he couldn't see Craig anywhere.

'Craig!' _I can't have you die. Not now. Oh sweet Jesus, if Craig dies my head's gonna explode._

Tweek realized the giant photocopier had fallen over, trapping Craig beneath it. In an instant, Tweek leapt over the flames and lifted the machine off of Craig.

The dark haired boy had passed out. 'Oh Jesus!' Tweek picked up Craig, who was surprisingly much lighter than he had expected.

Holding Craig close, Tweek made his way past the flames and out of the building. He kept on running, as if by instinct. The ground shook and the small building exploded as a mass of roaring flames pushed the two boys onto the ground. Tweek held on to Craig tightly, shielding him from the impact of falling on the ground.

Moments passed. Tweek remained on the ground, looking up at the blue sky as he tried to catch his breath. The way the sky looked made it seem like nothing had happened. Like a building hadn't just exploded. Like he was still timid and caffeine-crazed Tweek, who couldn't even get up to go to the bathroom without worrying about serial killers and perverts.

But now he felt like he was a different person altogether, because the Tweek from this morning would not have even dreamt of doing what he had just accomplished.

He saved Craig's life.

Tweek sat up and looked at the dark haired boy beside him.

'Tweek...?' Craig's eyes slowly opened. 'Did you just-' Craig winced.

'You okay? We need to get you to a hospital. Oh Jesus!' Tweek was starting to panic, his moment of tranquillity gone.

'No... No, it's fine.' Craig attempted to sit up, smiling faintly. 'You're... You're my hero.'

Tweek froze. _How was this happening? Isn't this what happened in that book? How..._

Craig looked at Tweek expectantly, as if he was waiting for something.

_Why is he looking at me like that? _Then the realization hit him. If this day was actually following the book, then...

_Oh Jesus. _Tweek stammered and mumbled out incomprehensible words.

Craig leaned in and said, 'You know, maybe if you just say what you're thinking rather than what you think I _want_ to hear, you -

Craig was cut off by Tweek's lips, which were eagerly pressed against his.

Tweek felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt nervous, but not the kind you get when you felt like something bad is going to happen. The kind when something amazing is happening and you didn't want it to end. Tweek liked this kind of nervous.

When they eventually pulled away, Craig looked at the blonde in astonishment. Tweek looked away.

Craig burst out laughing.

'Oh, Jesus! I knew I shouldn't have done that! Aagh!' Tweek flustered.

'No, that's not what I meant!' Craig chuckled. 'I just didn't expect you to be so bold. Not that I didn't like it.' The dark haired boy smiled gently. It was a rare sight. Tweek wished he could see that smile more often.

A small flyer floated down between the two. Craig picked it up. 'What's this?'

Craig's eyes widened. 'Um... Tweek? I think this is the 'cover art' Sherlock was talking about.'

'What is it?' Tweek looked over Craig's shoulder. 'Oh my god!'

It was a hand drawn picture of Stan carrying Kyle – who was wearing a French maid's outfit – bridal-style, with their lips interlocked.

'Looks like someone really wanted them to get together.' said Craig.

He turned to the other side of the page. An awkward silence fell instantly.

_A little gift for all you Creek fans! X3, _a caption read. Beneath it, yet another drawing. This time, made lovingly with an abundance of detail.

It was a drawing of Tweek and Craig.

'Where did our clothes go and why are you – aaagh!' Tweek buried his face into his hands. Really _terrible _thoughts now entered his head.

'Okay. It's not _that_ bad. You're making it sound worse than it is.'

'I can't deal with this kind of pressure! Aaagh!'

Craig chuckled and ruffled Tweek's hair. 'Never mind. You wanna come over to my house and watch Red Racer with me? I can also introduce you to my new hamster, Dot.'

Tweek calmed down a bit, now that the aforementioned 'art' was not part of the conversation anymore.

'Yeah.' Tweek smiled at Craig. 'I'd like that.'


	5. Everyone's Gay For Kyle

**Hello! I was so glad to read your responses to the last chapter, and will make sure the South Parkiness insanity continues in this story!  
Enjoy!**

* * *

_Snowflakes gently landed on Kenny, melting from his warmth even though he was shivering. All he could see was a fading white sky above him. His breathing started to quicken. He didn't want to die._

_'__Kenny…' Kyle choked as he held Kenny in his arms. 'Kenny, it's going to be okay.'_

_'__What happened..?' Kenny croaked out. He looked down his shirt. There was a mass of red staining his orange parka. He was starting to bleed out into the snow beneath him._

_The ginger cradled Kenny as he gently kissed his forehead. 'Shhh…'_

_He clutched Kyle's jacket. 'N-No.' He was trembling. 'I want to stay.'_

_'__You're not leaving. You're just…' Kyle stifled a whimper. 'You're just falling asleep. I'll be here when you wake up, Kenny.'_

_'__It's getting dark.' His eyes started to feel heavy. He held onto Kyle tighter. 'Kyle…'_

_'__It's okay, Kenny.' Kyle kissed him on the lips, his tears falling onto the blonde's cheeks. 'Just… go to sleep.' _

_Kenny's eyes closed. The sound of Kyle's breathing faded into the darkness that enveloped him, until he was no longer Kenny McCormick. Until - _

'Dude…'

'What… the… fuck.'

Kenny was bawling his eyes out, holding nothing but that damn book in his hands. 'You-you guys… this is so- aaagh!' He burst into a fit of sobs and wails.

Stan and Kyle didn't know what to make of it. They had never seen Kenny cry like this before. And they certainly never thought Kenny to be such a romantic.

'Dude, I think you need to stop reading that book. And don't read it out loud, for Christ's sake!' Stan exasperated.

'But it's so good!' Kenny sniffled.

'You're a mess!' said Kyle.

'A _hot_ mess, according to you.' Kenny raised an eyebrow as he waved around the booklet, having quickly recovered at the sound of Kyle's voice.

'IT'S NOT REAL!' Kyle yelled across the lunch table. He didn't even care about the fact that a roomful of eyes were watching.

'Hey, did you guys hear about the explosion next to the Photo Dojo?' Clyde appeared at their table, interrupting Kyle's temperamental fit.

'What happened?' Stan asked.

'Apparently someone set fire to the place. Police are saying it was Benedict Cumberbatch, cuz' he had a mental breakdown or something.'

'Dude.' Kyle gaped.

'Yeah, and they also found Martin Freeman dead in a cage in some hidden room, surrounded by a ton of weird hand puppets. Pretty freaky stuff.'

'What about Benedict Cumberbatch? Did they get him?' Kyle asked.

'They haven't found him yet. Unless he burnt to a crisp, in which case they just washed away his ashes into the sewers with a hose.'

Clydes blunt words left them all in a stunned silence.

'Well, that's just sad.' Kenny broke the silence chirpily, clearly not all that emotionally invested in the fate of Benedict Cumberbatch. 'Hey, Kyle…' He leaned across the table, cooing Kyle's name. 'Kyle…'

'What?' Kyle snapped.

'Everyone else in the room can see it. Everyone else but you….' Kenny started to sing.

'No, Kenny.' Kyle narrowed his eyes. 'Don't.'

Kenny started to sing even louder. '_Baby, you Jew up my world like nobody else. The way that you get pissed off gets me overwhelmed. And when you curse and you yell, it ain't hard to tell.'_

_'__You don't know – oh oh.'_ Stan joined in.

'Stan!' Kyle yelped.

'_You don't know I'm gay for you.' _Kenny paused for dramatic effect.

Kyle's face went completely red.

'I-I wasn't gonna sing _that.' _Stan flustered, turning towards Kyle. 'Because I'm not gay for you! I'm not gay for anyone!'

Kenny - who was all too enthralled with his little performance - butted in. 'Well, I _am_ gay for you, Kyle!'

'What the fuck is wrong with everyone!?' Kyle burst out. 'You're gay, you're not gay – '

'Craig and Tweek are gay.' Kenny added.

'Craig and … what?' Kyle shook his head. 'Anyway – what is up with all the… all the…'

'Gay?' Stan suggested.

'I was gonna say Kenny being a sleazeball and drooling whenever I bend down to pick up my pencil or something, and then ad-libbing freaking _One Direction_ songs to make them sound gayer than they already are. It's not cool, dude.'

'Look,' said Kenny. 'It's not my fault that you're too smexy for your own good. You should be flattered! Besides… not everyone gets the chance to have this!' Kenny's hands motioned towards himself.

'Aw-awww!' Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Kenny. I'm not interested.' Kyle gave the blonde a deadpan look. 'Not. Interested.'

Kenny thought on those words for a while, before hopping out of his seat. 'Okay! I should be going anyway. See you guys later.'

And with that, the blonde walked out of the cafeteria.

'You think he understood any of that?' Kyle asked.

'Not a single word.' Stan replied.

Kyle threw away his half-eaten sandwich. 'I'm not hungry anymore. We should formulate a plan.'

'A plan?'

'Yeah. For our investigation.' Kyle looked at Stan like it was something of obvious priority.

'Oh, right. I forgot about that.'

'You forgot? Dude, I can barely close my eyes without having those…images in my head. It's going to haunt me until we find whoever did this.'

'You have images of it in your head?' Stan held back a mischievous smile.

Kyle nudged him with a sharp elbow. 'Shut up. You know what I mean. Anyway, I think we should ask around and see if anyone saw whoever put the books in our mailboxes. We'll split our class between us. So I'll ask Token, Clyde, Twe-'

'Dude, I don't know if we should even try.'

'What do you mean 'if we should even try'? How else are we going to find out who wrote the book?'

'No, I meant that… It's kind of not that big a deal. I mean, so what if some book says we're gay? So what if our names are used? It's just someone's imagination running a little wild. It doesn't really apply to us. We shouldn't worry about it.'

'So what? So what?! Is that what you would say if it was _you _that Kenny was fantasizing about because of that book? It is a big deal, Stan! That stuff shouldn't be out there for everyone to read! It's an invasion of privacy!'

'Kyle… It really isn't worth it. Can't we just forget about it?' Stan looked at the redhead pleadingly.

'If you're not willing to help me then…' Kyle hesitated. 'Then…you're not my super best friend.'

Stan was taken aback. 'Kyle!'

Kyle got up to leave. He didn't say a word, let alone look at Stan.

'Kyle, come back!' Stan grabbed the redhead's green ushanka in his desperate attempt to keep him from leaving. Kyle didn't go anywhere without his hat.

But he just kept walking, not even giving notice to his missing ushanka.

'Well… then you're not my super best friend either!' Stan shouted. 'And… And I lied about your hair! I think it's the stupidest, gayest hair I've ever seen!'

No response. The dark haired boy slumped back into his seat. _How did this even happen? One moment we're super best friends and the next…_

In the far corner of the cafeteria, he spotted a couple seated at one of the smaller tables, holding hands. It was Craig and…

_Dude. Never thought Craig and Tweek – of all people – would get together._

Although he felt like he wasn't supposed to, Stan continued to watch the two. Craig had his arm around Tweek's shoulders, his hand entangled in the blonde's hair. He whispered something into Tweek's ear. Whatever it was, it made Tweek blush profusely. They burst into a harmonious laughter.

Stan couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy. He didn't exactly know why, but seeing those two made him regret fighting with Kyle even more.

_And I've still got his hat..._

He laid his head onto the ushanka and closed his eyes.

_I'm such a sorry excuse of a friend._

* * *

There was an art to breaking locks.

Not that Butters would know firsthand, of course. But from what he had seen in the movies, he had learnt a lot. Like breaking into a locker, for instance. Or committing an almost-perfect crime. He even knew a thing or two about making your way into a woman's – or man's – heart.

And just like the way you eased yourself into another person's thoughts, Butters would have to gently – and very carefully- turn the dial of the lock until he heard a soft click. A melodious sound that signaled its surrender. Yet another victorious conquest.

At least that was the way it was supposed to work.

Butters had been pressing his ear to the lock and turning the dial slowly for a painstaking half hour. He was sure he had done everything right.

'How's it going, Butters?'

'Well, I-uh- can't seem to break the lock, Eric. It sure is- uh- too darn hard.'

Cartman leaned against the locker next to him, watching in silence as Butters kept on turning the dial, even though he knew it was useless.

'You know, Butters, there's a much easier way to break into a locker.'

Butters turned to the chubby brunette. 'There is?'

'Let me show you.' Cartman budged Butters out of the way as he swung up a large hammer.

'Oh my God!' Butters yelped.

'Don't worry, Butters.' Cartman slammed the hammer into the locker with a loud bang. 'This is all carefully planned out.'

The brunette continued to swing at the locker, all the while singing an unusual set of lyrics in a soft voice.

'_Because it's jewcraft… That sneaky jewcraft…_ _And although I know you're a freakin' jew… When you arouse the need in me, my heart says - _MOTHERFUCKER!'

Cartman dropped his hammer with a deafening clang. Everything but the lock itself was dented. 'GODDAMN JEW LOCKER!'

'Maybe we should just – uh –give up?' Butters twiddled his thumbs, thinking of how many weeks – no, months - he would be grounded for if his parents had found out.

'No, Butters! We are not fucking giving up!' Cartman started pacing around. 'But what we are doing… is making the best out of a bad situation.'

'What do you mean?'

Cartman pulled out a black permanent marker. He started to write onto the locker.

Butters read out whatever Cartman was furiously scribbling. 'Fuck you… you snake-eyed… gay…jinger jersey Jew?' Butters took a step back. 'Er… Eric, I don't think that's how you spell ginger-'

'Shut the fuck up!'

'Aagh! I'm sorry! It's just… How is this gonna help us get a sample of Kyle's writing?'

'It's not.'

'Then how are we –uh- gonna know who wrote 'My Ships'?'

The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, coming towards them.

'Oh shit!' Cartman threw the marker at Butters. 'Someone's coming!' The brunette ran and hid behind the water fountain. The tubby boy didn't exactly fit, but Butters didn't say anything.

'Butters? What did you do to my locker?!' A puffy eyed Kyle approached Butters. It looked as though he had been crying. He wasn't wearing his hat either. _What happened to him?_

'I-uh-' He realized that with the marker in his hands, no excuse could save him.

'Oh my God! What the hell is this?!' Kyle yelled when he read the obscenities on the front of his locker. 'Snaked-eyed, ginger – Hold on.' Kyle stopped short and looked at Butters. 'You didn't write this, did you?'

Butters stuttered, not really making any comprehensible words. The redhead looked over Butters' shoulder.

'I can see you, you fat piece of shit!' Kyle shouted.

'What are you, some kind of psychic? Jeez, relax, Kyle.' Cartman stood up nonchalantly as if he hadn't been hiding shamelessly behind a water fountain half his size.

'You don't have to be a psychic to see your fat ass sticking out! What the fuck are you doing?' Kyle glared at Cartman.

'Not much. Just hangin' out with my bro.' Cartman punched Butters playfully in the arm.

'Right. And I'm not a natural redhead.' Kyle retorted.

'Wha…Really?' Butters gaped.

'No, Butters. It's…' Kyle rubbed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood to put up with _both_ Cartman and Butters. 'It's an expression.'

'Guess I should be going…' Cartman turned to leave. 'So long, jewboy.'

'Hold up.' Kyle grabbed the back of Cartman's collar. 'Someone's gotta fix my locker. And it's not going to be Butters.'

'Yeah, like I'm going to fix _your _locker!' Cartman snickered as he attempted to pull away from the ginger's surprisingly strong grip.

'You're not going anywhere until my locker gets fixed.' Kyle gave an expressionless look, which almost worried Cartman. Almost.

The brunette chuckled as he tried to pry away the redhead's hands off his collar. 'Didn't know you were so clingy, Kyle. Maybe that book was right about you.'

'Shut it.' Kyle seethed.

'Yep. I'm getting the gay vibes right now. This is _totally_ gay.' Cartman teased. 'You do this often with Stan?'

'Aaagh!' Kyle shoved the brunette onto the ground and pounced on him, punching him in the face viciously.

'Oh hamburgers!' Butters screamed. 'Kyle, stop it!'

'You bastard! You think you can just fucking talk about me and Stan like that?! Like it's all some kind of entertainment for you?! What the fuck do you know?!' Kyle continued to pummel the tubby brunette, who clawed at Kyle's face in return.

Butters leapt onto Kyle, knocking him over to the side. Cartman took the opportunity and made a run for it.

'Butters, let go of me!' Kyle thrashed about. Butters kept his arms locked around Kyle, determined to keep him from going after Cartman.

'Get back here you fat piece of shit! You fucking coward!' Kyle screamed.

'Kyle, no! He's gone!' Butters strained to hold the redhead down. 'Calm down!'

After a moment of struggle, the redhead gave up. But Butters still wouldn't let go. After an outburst like that, there was no telling what Kyle would do next.

'Butters, I'm finished, okay?' Kyle said quietly, his anger having quickly subsided. 'I'm not gonna fight anymore. You can let go.'

The blonde released Kyle from his grip. 'I didn't want anyone to get hurt…'

'I know.'

The two sat on the floor in silence. Butters looked at the green eyed boy, who was staring at the floor pensively.

'…Is there something you want to talk about?'

'No.'

'What happened to your –uh –hat?'

For a fraction of a second, Butters spotted sadness in Kyle's expression. The redhead bit his lip and quickly turned his head away.

'It fell off.'

Butters knew this wasn't all there was to it, but thought it was best to leave the subject alone. Instead, he put his hand on Kyle's shoulder reassuringly.

'Whatever it is you're worried about… it'll be okay. Problems have a tendency to work themselves out.'

Kyle looked at Butters, slightly surprised. '…Thanks, Butters. That's …really kind.'

'It's nothing.' Butters gushed. 'Um… there was something I wanted to ask you.'

'What is it?'

'I-uh- needed to get some class notes from you.'

'Class notes?' Kyle raised an eyebrow. 'You haven't been absent.'

'Yeah, but sometimes Mr. Garrison goes through the lesson so fast I – uh -don't have time to write it all down. And then I see you, all smart and – uh -hard-working, so I thought you could help me.'

'Um… Okay. Sure.' Kyle got up and opened up his smashed up locker. He pulled out a bundle of papers. 'Here's what we've done from this week. You can give it back whenever.'

'Gee, thanks, Kyle! That's awful nice of you!'

'Don't worry about it.' Kyle smiled.

Butters turned to leave. He walked down the corridor until he heard Kyle close his locker and leave. He then ran to the janitor's closet and knocked furiously.

_I kind feel bad about this. But…_

'What is it?' Cartman peeked out.

'I got it.' Butters held up the papers he had just been given. 'I got a sample of Kyle's writing.' 

* * *

**In case anyone's wondering what tune Cartman is singing along to it's _Witchcraft_ by Frank Sinatra (except Cartman adds his own special twist to the lyrics, to which you are free to interpret in any way you like! :D)**

**Hope you liked this chapter, and please review - I'd really love to hear what you think (that could include your own crazy theory on who wrote _My_ _Ships _!)**


	6. Sneaky Jewcraft

Sometimes Kyle liked to imagine that it was just him and Stan in the world, which sounded really sappy, but Kyle felt it nonetheless.

There were days when the world was so screwed up that the only thing that made sense was Stan. Everyone and everything else was just background noise.

He didn't really know why that was. Maybe it's because they've been – or were – best friends for as long as they could remember. Or maybe it was just Stan being his typical sensitive, reasonable self keeping Kyle grounded amidst all of South Park's craziness.

Either way, Kyle couldn't spend one afternoon without Stan. Not without thinking about him constantly, or wondering how he might react to something that just happened in class.

_There's something wrong with me. I sound like a total psycho. _But surely it was normal to miss your super best friend – or rather, ex-super best friend –when they were gone?

_Not if you have gay fantasies of him._

To his defense, there was nothing gay about his… daydreams. They were totally innocent and definitely non-romantic.

_Whatever you say…_

Kyle sighed. He had to stop with the inner monologue turning against him. It wasn't exactly helpful in convincing himself he wasn't crazy.

'Whatcha doing?'

'Shit!' Kyle jumped in his seat. 'Kenny, you startled me.'

The blonde leaned over and rested his chin on the redhead's shoulder, Kyle being too spaced out to react. 'What's that you've got there?'

Kyle looked down at his notebook page. It had Stan's name scribbled all over it. 'Er… Nothing!' Kyle quickly covered it with his hands. Good thing Stan wasn't here to see that.

'Interesting…' Kenny looked lost in thought. 'Kyle?'

'Yeah?' Two green eyes looked at Kenny.

Kenny stared right back, saying nothing.

'What?' Kyle asked.

'You're pretty.'

Kyle sighed in annoyance and shook the blonde off of his shoulder. 'I'm not _pretty_, Kenny. I'm a guy. And a masculine one at that.'

Kenny burst into laughter.

'What's so funny?' Kyle scowled.

'Oh, nothing. It's just the way you said it – and with that cutsy look on your face! Ahahahaha!'

'Cutsy?!' Kyle's face flushed.

'Hehehe…' Kenny wiped the tears from his eyes. 'Anyway, you know what's strange? How many pairings there are in that book. And from what I've read, there's a ton with you in it.'

'I don't really want to talk about that right now, Kenny.'

'I'm not finished yet.' Kenny scooted his seat closer to the redhead. 'Just give me a list of every gay/lesbian pairing possible in our class, and I will find it in this book.' The blonde held up a worn out copy of 'My Ships'. 'Well, _almost _every pairing.'

'I'm not sure what you're trying to say.'

'I'm not sure what I'm trying to say either.' Kenny mused. 'Also, where is Stan?'

'How am I supposed to know?' Kyle snapped.

Mr. Garrison burst into the room. 'Alright, class, let's get this shitty lesson over with so we can all go home. Now, let's begin with a quick recap of last lesson. Will wants poontang – namely from Alana. But Hannibal, who's also super gay for Will, decides to sleep with Alana because he's a sick, twisted bastard. Now, Will doesn't like this so he…'

Mr. Garrison's words quickly melted into the background. Kyle would normally pull out a textbook and get some actual work done at this point, but he could only form one thought in his head.

_Stan._

Think about something else. Homework. Math. Trigonometry.

_Stan._

Can't think about him. Can't think about him. Can't think about-

_Stan._

Kyle gripped the pencil in his hand tightly. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get him out of his mind. Nor could he forget the hurtful words he gave at lunchtime. He couldn't forgive Stan, even though he knew it was a stupid thing to fight over.

And yet, he kept going back to the night he stayed over at Stan's house. When Stan started talking about his hair and how much he liked it. When Stan gave him this unusual look, like he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Maybe he was overanalyzing the moment and seeing things that weren't there, but it was like an itch that wouldn't go away. He kept wondering what that look meant.

Kyle replayed the night over and over again in his head, each time finding new layers and meanings. But before he knew it, the bell had rung. _How can it be three o'clock already? Was I thinking about Stan the whole time? _

'Um… Kyle?' A gentle voice asked.

Kyle got up to pack away his stuff. 'Yeah?'

'There's something you should know. But before I tell you, just keep in mind that it's nothing personal, okay?'

Kyle stopped packing away. 'What is it, Wendy?'

'Look, Kyle. I know you're a responsible guy and all, but….' The dark haired girl cleared her throat. 'If you so much as hurt Stan in any physical or emotional way, I will personally make sure that you end up on a rocket to join Willzyx and Tom Cruise on the moon.' Her brown eyes pierced through Kyle's with a frightening intensity.

'Holy shit.' He didn't realize Wendy knew about him and Stan's argument already. 'I'm sorry if I-'

'I'm not done yet.' Wendy snapped. 'Stan is very sensitive, Kyle. If you break his heart, he will never get over it. And then you'll have me to deal with.'

'Break his heart? What are you-'Kyle froze. Wendy actually though that he and Stan were….

'You got all that?'

Kyle nodded. He didn't want to drag out this confrontation any further.

'Okay, then.' Wendy smiled sweetly. 'See you tomorrow, Kyle. Bye!'

Kyle sighed in relief as she left the room. Why did she think that he and Stan were gay?

There was nothing between him and Stan. They weren't even super best friends anymore.

Kyle shook his head to try and recompose himself, although it didn't do much. He just wanted to go home and forget everything.

* * *

'This is our space. So leave.' Henrietta smugly puffed out a ring of smoke. It had taken her several weeks to perfect that.

'But this is really important! I need your advice! And also… I was one of you once.' Stan pleaded. 'Remember me, Raven?'

'Yeah, we remember.' Pete flipped the hair out of his eyes. 'But you're still a freakin' conformist.'

'Besides, we don't know anything about the cliché drama you posers put yourself through.' Michael said.

'It's not cliché drama! This… this is my best friend in the whole world were talking about, and now he thinks I'm some inconsiderate asshole. And I… I think I might be…' Stan couldn't even finish the sentence.

'That sounds like cliché drama to me.' said Henrietta.

'No… Look… I-'Stan took a deep breath before continuing in a huskier voice. 'It's like I'm circling with nothing but my uncertainty in a carousel of agony. I'm tired of all the pain and misery. I want to break free of these chains, or forever feel nothing but the night.'

The four black-clad Goths stared blankly at Stan for a moment.

Firkel broke the silence. 'That was the deepest shit I've heard since _The Conqueror Worm._'

'Yeah. That was pretty hardcore.' Pete added.

'I feel your pain.' Michael said.

'So what should I do?' Stan asked, relieved that his inner Goth was still in him.

'You need to show him your pain. Tell him what you told us, about the uncertainty and misery that envelopes you.' said Henrietta.

'Well, yeah. But there must have been something Raven did to Kyle.' Pete said. 'So whatever it was, apologize for it. I'm sure he'll see that you're being mature and considerate. He'll appreciate that and forgive you.'

The other three Goths stared at Pete.

'I mean…' Pete corrected himself. 'You have to let Kyle share his pain with you as well. Only then can you both live in the darkness together.'

'But…' Stan hesitated. 'What if it's not just the fight that's bothering me?'

'What do you mean?' Michael asked.

'I mean that I…' Stan paused. He didn't even know how to articulate the feeling in his own jumbled up mind, let alone form the right words for it. Should he even try explaining it? That feeling buried deep in his chest every time Kyle looked at him, or said his name? The feeling that kept him up late at night, incessantly wondering whether what he felt was real.

'Never mind.' Stan mumbled. 'Thanks for the advice anyway.' he said as he walked off.

It was only half past two, so Stan had at least half an hour to kill before going home. No one knew he was bunking his last lesson just so he could rummage through his messed up thoughts. But as far as Stan was concerned, this was far more productive than sitting through one of Mr. Garrisons' ridiculous lessons.

Stan kicked away a stone as he walked by Stark's Pond. He stopped and looked at the wintry view in front of him. It was a miserable looking pond, surrounded by snow covered mountains.

Even so, it was a familiar view that Stan often found himself longing for. He sat on the bench as he took in its every detail, the texture of the wood, the little scratch marks and notes left by others.

As if by impulse, Stan pulled out a pen and started to scrawl on his initials with a plus sign next to it. Just as he was about to add the next two letters, he stopped himself.

_What am I doing?_

Stan leant back on the bench and sighed. He then sat up, remembering something. He unzipped the bag and pulled out Kyle's green ushanka.

He laughed to himself quietly. _I must look pretty pathetic, moping around with Kyle's hat in my hands…_

He looked on the inside of the hat, and found something he had almost forgotten about.

_Stan and Kyle – Super Best Friends Forever, _scrawled in Kyle's neat handwriting_._

He remembered the day Kyle wrote that. At the time Stan kept remarking how gay it sounded for the two of them to write that message in both of their hats. Kyle retorted with the argument that Super Best Friends pendants were _super_ gay, so hats were the better option. He also kept insisting it was okay because only super best friends could do stuff like that. Stuff like sleeping over at each other's houses every weekend, or crying in each other's arms when a new re-re-re-release of an Indiana Jones movie came out.

For a while Stan felt this way too. But it was around the time that he and Kyle were starting high school that something changed. Every time Kyle said his name, he felt a bit of vomit coming up his throat. His breathing started to quicken. His hands got clammy.

Even Kyle started to behave differently. He started to sit closer to Stan on the bus, and always found it difficult to keep eye contact.

Stan had started to think that maybe Kyle felt the same, but then again, he couldn't trust his own paranoid thoughts. Of course he'd _want_ to think Kyle felt the same.

Either way, what did that mean for Stan? That he was…

Stan barfed onto the snow. 'Fuck.' He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

_Screw thinking about that for now. I need to find a way to apologize to Kyle._

* * *

'You know you don't have to stay with me, right?' Two emerald eyes looked at Kenny apologetically.

'I'm not leaving you out here alone. Besides,' Kenny scooted closer to Kyle on the bench. 'It's not often we two get to spend some _quality_ _time_ at Stark's Pond.' He winked.

Instead of responding with some snarky comment, Kyle looked at the ground dejectedly.

'Come on, Kyle! Quit being so melodramatic!' Kenny shook the redhead's shoulders playfully. 'So what if Stan… wait, what did Stan do again?'

Kyle stayed quiet.

'Oh wait, I remember!' said Kenny. 'He… uh… He didn't want to help you catch the pervert who wrote 'My Ships', right?'

'I'm not angry about _that.' _

_'_Then what?'

'Just… something he said.'

'And that was….?' Kenny leaned into look at Kyle's face, looking out for the slightest micro-expression that might give it away.

'Kyle?' Kenny stared intently. 'Did you write 'My Ships'?'

'No!' Kyle's eyes widened. 'Why would you even ask me that?!'

'Just checking, man.' Kenny held his hands up to reassure the redhead. 'I believe you.'

Kyle relaxed at returned to staring at the ground. The two sat on the bench without saying another word. The sun was starting to set.

The blonde stretched his arms out and checked the time. 'You know it's 5 o'clock already? How long are you gonna stay out here?'

'Hm?' Kyle looked up, completely dazed from the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. 'Uh… I don't know…' He traced a pattern on the bench.

Kenny looked down at where Kyle was tracing with his finger.

_SM+KB_

He immediately recognized the 'KB' as Kyle's neat handwriting. _When did he write that?_

'It's getting late.' Kenny looked at the redhead in concern. 'Why don't we walk home together?'

Kyle hesitated before replying. '…Yeah. I guess.'

* * *

_'__Your curly ginger hair… That sly, green-eyed stare…' _Cartman sang. '_That strips my conscious bare, it's jewcraft…'_

'Gee, you sure –uh – like singing that song a lot, don't you?' said Butters, who was methodically inspecting each scrap of paper from a gigantic pile at the centre of a table. It was tedious work, but he enjoyed simply being in Eric's company. Besides, it was awful fun to play a part in an investigation like this.

'_It's such an ancient pitch…' _Cartman ignored the timid blonde. '_But one that I wouldn't switch_… _'Cuz there's no…' _The brunette faltered. '_Cuz there's no… no…'_

Seconds ticked by and Cartman was growing more and more irritable as he fumbled with the lyrics. 'Dammit, Butters. What's another word for… uh… nice?'

'Nice? There's plenty of other words for that!' Butters gushed. 'There's lovely… and pleasant… or you could even say wonderful…'

'No, no, no!' Cartman shook his head. 'Nice as in… the bitter kind of nice. Like… you hate and like it at the same time.'

'You mean like how you feel for Kyle?' Butters asked impulsively, surprising himself by this sudden burst of audacity.

'WHAT?!' Cartman banged his fist on the table.

'Well, it's just that you –uh– say you hate him, but then you always do these little nice things for him at the last minute. Also that song you sing all the time sure does sound like you –'

'Butters! Are you trying to make me out to be some kind of gay Romeo? Because I do _not_ like Kyle in _any_ kind of way! I hate him! I hate him so much I could- I could- '

'Kiss him?' Butters suggested. Then, having realized what he had just said, yelped and covered his mouth. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!'

The tubby brunette glared. After a moment's silence, he spoke. 'You're forgiven.'

The two got back to work, examining each and every paper wordlessly.

'You could say sweet.' Butters said. 'I know it's not something you like and hate at the same time… but I think it still fits the song pretty well.'

'Sweet?' Cartman glanced at the blonde. 'As in innocent? Totally opposite of the scheming snake Kyle is sometimes?'

Butters shrugged, finding it interesting that Cartman used the word 'sometimes_'_.

'_It's such an ancient pitch… But one that I wouldn't switch_…' Cartman sang. _'Cuz there's no sweeter Jew than you…. _Yeah, I think it fits. Nice one, Butters.'

'It's nothing!' Butters beamed. He felt so warm whenever Eric said nice things to him – which didn't happen often. He wanted to treasure moments like this. If only they could last forever…

'Find anything yet?' Cartman interjected Butters little moment of bliss.

'Uh… no. They're all kinda starting to look the same…'

'We gotta keep searching, Butters. We can't start getting tired now.'

Cartman picked up a torn piece of paper from the giant pile and scrutinized the handwriting on it. Finding nothing of interest, he threw it onto the floor and picked up another, completely focused on the task.

'Um… Eric?'

'Yeah?'

'When we find whoever wrote this book, what are we gonna do to…. them?'

'Them?' Cartman looked up.

'Well, it could be a guy or a girl, so…'

'I was thinking something along the lines of the punishment I gave Scott Tenorman. But obviously something a little more creative. Feeding someone their parents is so … meh.'

'Meh?' Butters furrowed his brow in concern.

'But we don't have to worry about that yet.' Cartman continued. 'We've still got to catch the damn pervert first.'

'Right.' Butters nodded. He reached for another paper, but a piece by Cartman's side caught his eye. He immediately recognized the handwriting and threw it on the ground.

'Hold up, you didn't even inspect it properly!' Cartman glanced at Butters.

'I –uh- didn't have to. The letters were way too large to match.'

'Oh… okay.' Cartman looked at Butters skeptically before returning to his work.

With a shaky hand, Butters took another scrap of paper. He squinted his eyes as he looked at the paper in his hands. The writing was so small… and neat.

He grabbed 'My Ships' and opened up to the first page and inspected the writing.

Butters perused the scrap piece of paper once again. He checked, double checked, even triple checked his findings. He was sure.

'Eric. I know who the writer of 'My Ships' is.'

Cartman hurried over to Butters. 'Who?'

'I think you – uh – know.'

The tubby brunette scowled. 'No. No, I don't know, Butters. So fucking tell me!'

Butters hesitated before answering.

'It's Kyle.'

Cartman narrowed his eyes.

'That sneaky little Jew…'


	7. Each Day is Valentine's Day

Kyle sighed as Stan's fingers ran through his hair. He closed his eyes and wished he could stay like this forever, his head rested on Stan's chest as he had his hair caressed. He could hear Stan's heart beat softly through the fabric of his shirt, lulling him to sleep.

'Your hair is so perfect, man.' Stan purred, wrapping his other arm around Kyle to pull him closer, almost crushing him.

'You're perfect.' Kyle smiled into Stan's shirt.

'But I don't understand why you would do that, Kyle.' Stan's voice suddenly turned cold.

'Do what?' Kyle looked up worriedly. He was startled to find that Stan's eyes had darkened, staring at him like he was some unwelcome stranger. Stan still held onto him, but his grip was getting uncomfortably tight.

'What is wrong with you?' Stan snarled, his face distorting as he did so.

'Stan.' Kyle whimpered, Stan's words feeling like venom piercing into him. 'Please...'

He felt his chest tighten, his shoulders beginning to crush. The air became heavier, until he felt like he was drowning. A strange buzzing sound became increasingly louder.

'You disgust me.'

Kyle felt like his heart was torn apart, sliced by Stan's poisonous words. His breathing became ragged, the air feeling like sand in his throat, until his breath stopped altogether.

Kyle gasped as his eyes opened abruptly. He swallowed the air like he had actually been suffocating, realizing that he was crying uncontrollably.

He sat up in his bed, clutching the blankets with trembling arms. He's never had nightmares like that before, so vivid and… unsettling. Images of Stan's warped face lingered in his mind, and for a moment he felt a genuine panic that Stan had actually tried to crush him.

_It's just a dream. Just a dream._ He murmured to himself reassuringly, although the tears wouldn't stop falling.

_Stan doesn't hate me…_

Don't be ridiculous.

_Does he?_

Of course not.

_Would he, if he knew…?_

The question echoed in his head. All of a sudden, he felt extremely lonely. He knew it was only a dream, but he couldn't help but feel like he was abandoned. Left alone…

A buzzing, followed by a sudden crack, made Kyle almost jump out of bed in blind panic.

_You idiot. It's just your phone._

He peered over the edge of the bed. He was right. His phone had fallen off the bedside table. He picked it up and checked for messages. There were two from Kenny.

_How's mah ginger pixie?_

Kyle shuddered. He's already picked out a freaky pet name for me, Kyle thought. He opened up the next message with a sense of dread.

_U need sum emotional support? Just say the magic word n I'll be there faster than u can say 'god Kenny's hawt'._

'Ugghh…' Kyle exasperated as he threw the phone at the end of the bed, knowing full well what Kenny meant by 'emotional support'. And he was having _none_ of that.

He fell back into bed and stared at the ceiling, unsure if he even wanted to go back to sleep. The possibility of having that nightmare again made his stomach churn, sweat breaking out just at the thought of facing nightmare Stan again.

He looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was 3 a.m. He decided he would stay up until morning, that waiting another three or four hours was a viable option.

He sighed and tried to distract himself with thoughts about something other than Stan. As usual, he failed to do so.

He tried to remember the way the dream had started, when Stan was petting his hair. This soothed him, and without his permission, his eyes started to close as he drifted into sleep.

The dreams were pleasant this time, mostly consisting of Stan smiling at him and smoothing Kyle's red hair with his hands. Even so, there was always a darkness looming in Stan's eyes. Kyle felt like the dream would shatter at any moment, that Stan would suddenly bare fangs and tear him into shreds. It got to a point where the caresses and whispers no longer soothed him. He only felt a rising panic in his throat.

Feeling like he was in danger of another horrifying nightmare, Kyle tried to pull himself out of the dream. His eyes opened slowly, feeling relief at seeing his bedroom wall.

He felt a weight next to him on the bed. He froze, his heart beating so hard he could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. It was warm and reassuring, but he still felt uneasy.

'Kyle…?' A soft voice whispered. 'You awake?'

He turned towards the voice. Stan was sitting next to him on the bed. He was looking at him strangely.

Kyle felt a whimper at the back of his throat. He was still dreaming.

'Are you okay?' said Stan. '…Have you been crying?' Stan's expression was getting increasingly worried.

'N-no…' Kyle croaked. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Stan was sitting close to him, close enough to faintly smell Stan's cologne.

Stan frowned. 'Dude… Did you have a nightmare or something? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or Cartman.'

Kyle shook his head abruptly. He wondered when nightmare Stan was going to try and choke him or something, but nothing was happening.

Stan sensed Kyle's fear, and his expression softened. 'Kyle… I came to apologize.'

Kyle sat up in his bed. He was starting to think that maybe this wasn't a dream.

Stan reddened as he glanced at Kyle's shirt. Kyle looked down, trying to see what had embarrassed him but his mind was still too fuzzy from sleep to find anything of importance about what he was wearing.

The dark haired boy looked away. 'I… I was being a dick earlier today. I didn't mean what I said about your hair. That was just … stupid of me.'

Kyle, feeling braver now, narrowed his eyes. 'Is that it?'

Stan shifted in his seat. 'Is there something else I did?'

'I don't know, is there?'

'Look, I don't know what else I did wrong. How am I supposed to know if you don't tell me?'

'What do you actually think about the book, Stan? And don't lie.' Kyle found strength in his voice, the anger boiling in his head making everything seem crystal clear. 'Don't try to tell me what you think I want to hear.'

Stan stared back in slight surprise. 'The book? I… I…' He hesitated. 'Well… people are going to write shitty things about you whether you like it or not, Kyle. There's no point getting pissed off about it.'

_Shitty things…? _Kyle felt a lump in his throat.

'Shitty things, Stan? That story about us in the first chapter? Was that shitty?' Kyle jumped off the bed, backing away from Stan. He bit his lip to keep from crying.

'Kyle… I...' Stan flustered, before deciding to give up on answering the question. 'One moment you're calling it sick and perverted and the next you're defending it? What's up with that?'

Kyle reddened and looked away. 'Nothing. Nothing is 'up' with this, Stan.'

'Dude, is there something you're not telling me?' Stan got up and stepped closer to Kyle. Stan's eyes studied Kyle's face, as if he could somehow read his expression for the answer. 'You can tell me, Kyle.'

Kyle took a step back, still avoiding eye contact as he did so. Tears were on the brink of his lower lashes. 'Just go. If you're not getting it then you might as well leave.'

'Look, I'm sor-'

'Leave.' Kyle snapped, his voice shaking. It took all of strength not to burst into tears.

Stan looked as if this physically hurt him, wincing as Kyle said this.

'…Okay. Fine.' Stan walked past Kyle and left the room. Kyle waited until he could hear his footsteps fading away before plunking himself back into bed.

Immediately the tears started to flow, his body shaking as he cried into his pillow, hoping Stan wouldn't come back and find him like this. Some part of him, though, wanted that to happen.

A loud thump interrupted his dream-like frenzy. _What now?_

Kyle tossed and turned. 'Go away, Stan…' he mumbled through the pillows, soaked in tears.

No response.

'…Kenny?' Kyle started emerge from his mass of pillows and blankets. 'If that's you then get the fuck out.'

He opened his eyes, only to realize that there was a large shadow by his bed. And it wasn't Stan or Kenny.

But by the time he realized, the shadow knocked him out with a large stick. It was too late.

'You're mine now, Kyle Brofloski…'

* * *

_God, I hate you_. Cartman thought, although this sentiment suddenly felt very hollow when Kyle sat there looking so helpless, his head hanging at an odd angle, mouth slightly agape as he sighed softly. It was difficult even for Cartman to feel hatred towards someone who was knocked unconscious, unable to reciprocate with a glare or sneer.

'Are you sure you didn't hit him too hard, Eric?' Butters said as he wrapped a rope around Kyle's waist and arms, tying him to the chair.

'He'll be fine. He's a ginger. Makes him damn hard to kill. I myself have tried many times before.'

He wondered whether his attempts to kill him were genuine. After all, he was Cartman. He could do whatever he wanted. And yet, this sneaky little Jew always managed to escape his grasp. Perhaps he never really intended to kill him at all. He often wished for it, but…

Cartman let out a snicker. _What is wrong with me today? Of course I want him dead. Just… not yet. _

He studied the ginger intently, as if doing so would somehow explain his inexplicable obsession with making this Jew's life a living hell.

Kyle's ridiculously red hair was disheveled, and the grey t-shirt he wore was way too large for him, so much that it slid off his shoulder.

Cartman contemplated on whether he should pull the sleeve back up. It almost made him uncomfortable to leave the redhead's shoulder bare. And yet the thought of even touching the fabric of his shirt felt too intimate to even consider.

Deciding that it was best to leave it be, Cartman quickly averted his eyes away towards the much safer, less stirring view of Kyle's bare feet, which were tied together by rope.

'Butters, I think you've done it too tightly around his feet.'

'Too tight?' Butters twiddled his thumbs nervously. 'I thought you didn't want him to –uh – escape?'

Cartman grunted in annoyance. 'Well, yeah. But I didn't want to leave bruises. Why leave evidence behind? You want Kyle to sue us _and_ have the evidence to prove it?'

Butter's eyes flickered to Kyle's pale feet and then back to Cartman. 'Sure, Eric. I'll loosen them up.'

The blonde smiled a little too brightly, almost as if to say '_Your secret's safe with me' – _whatever secret that was, anyway_._ Not that Cartman had a secret. Secrets were for those who were afraid, and Cartman was never afraid.

Cartman huffed out a breath. 'Never mind. I'll do it myself.'

He undid the rope, noting the red marks imprinted around Kyle's slender ankles. His hands brushed against the redhead's pale skin as he wrapped the rope around firmly. He was ice cold.

_He's got ankles like a chick. So fragile looking – _

The brunette stopped this thought dead in its tracks. He refused to finish it, refused to even acknowledge it. Thoughts are things, and letting one roam free in your mind would inevitably lead to feelings. Feelings he couldn't afford to have.

Kyle would always be his to pester, to humiliate and taunt. But he would never be anything more than a nuisance to Kyle. And that's the way Cartman intended to keep it.

And besides, he had bigger plans at stake. Plans so important that he could discard his temporary feelings so as to keep everything running smoothly.

Cartman got up and brushed the dust off his jeans, as if he could brush off unwanted thoughts along with it.

'Did you leave the note on Stan's door, Butters?'

'Yeah. And I-uh – made sure no one saw me. Just like you told me to.'

'Good.' Cartman nodded. 'We won't have much time, so we should probably get started. Wake him up.'

'Okay…' Butters said with disappointment in his voice. 'He sure is a sleepin' beauty when he isn't so angry. Right, Eric?'

Butters looked at the brunette with a familiar wide-eyed look. Even now, at the age of seventeen, Butters had somehow managed to retain the innocence of a child.

'The fuck, Butters. He's not cute. He's a freakin' snake. You think snakes are cute?'

'…I guess not. But then Kyle must be a pretty cute snake if there ever was one.'

To Cartman's distaste, Butters was actually right. Kyle looked so calm, so… vulnerable.

_So this must be how he looks when I'm not around, when it's just him and Stan._

He wondered what it might be like to have Kyle smile lovingly at him, but then quickly realized that it was total bullshit. Kyle isn't loving or cute; he's a freakin' Jew, and always will be.

Cartman sighed contentedly, satisfied with his justification. _Almost got me there, Kyle. Almost._

Butters, taking Cartman's silence as a signal to proceed, shook the redhead's shoulders gently.

Kyle groaned and shifted in the seat, his eyes hesitantly opening up. He squinted, the light making his head throb a little.

'Butters, I want you to leave.' Cartman said to the blonde. 'Come back when I call for you.'

'S-Sure.' Butters nodded and hurried out of the basement.

'No…' Kyle managed to croak out, thinking that maybe his nightmares took a turn for the worse and now included Cartman in them.

_Right. Here goes._ Cartman took a deep breath.

He grabbed the collar of Kyle's pajamas. 'Now don't you try any funny Jew tricks, Kyle. You got that?'

'What…' Kyle half opened his eyes. '… the hell is wrong with you, fatass? You fucking kidnapped me?'

Cartman couldn't help but smile at this, finding the disbelief in Kyle's eyes thoroughly entertaining. Remembering the task at hand, he released Kyle's collar and cleared his throat.

'Perhaps we should start with what's wrong with _you_, Kyle.' Cartman held up a copy of 'My Ships'. 'Who in their right mind would write this shit? Huh, Kyle? Care to enlighten us?'

'Enlighten you about what, lard boy?' Kyle hissed, now fully awake.

Cartman chuckled as he leaned in closer. 'Why don't you start with how you wrote this nice little story, Kyle?'

'Bullshit.' Kyle swallowed nervously. Kyle's eyes looked into his with a steely glare, but Cartman swore he saw a glimpse of distress, if only for a split second.

The brunette looked between the two green eyes, his face so close to Kyle's that he thought he could actually hear the redhead's heart beating wildly. Kyle was terrified, but something told him it wasn't the fact that he was tied up in Cartman's basement. No, there was something else worrying Kyle.

'Oh, yeah? Then how about the fact that they saw a _gay_ man walk into the photocopier place to make these books, huh? There's only one gay dude I know, and that's _you_, Kyle.'

Cartman watched the redhead's face for a response. A glimpse of panic. Embrarassment. There was nothing. He needed to press further.

'Or how about the fact that more than half of these stories star _you_ in them? And perhaps the most incriminating evidence yet, the fact that _your_ handwriting matches the writing in the book.'

'That's impossible.' said Kyle.

Cartman stepped back and sighed. 'Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.' He chuckled as he gazed teasingly at the redhead. 'We all know you wrote it. Come on, admit it. Tell the truth, Kyle. It's the right thing to do. Go on, say it.'

Kyle stared back angrily. He refused to even dignify the question with a response.

Cartman kneeled down to be at Kyle's eye level, his eyes gleaming with delight. This was his specialty. Breaking people, tearing their egos apart, exposing secrets they themselves were too blind to see. People were so transparent… and so very weak.

'Kyle… Let me tell you a little story.' Cartman took Kyle's tied up hands into his, a smirk on his face threatening to break out into a wide grin. 'Once upon a time, there were two hippies. One of them was sensitive and quiet. The other was a sweet little Jew and … frankly, a pain in the butthole. They were inseparable, so much so that people often saw them as a pair, unable to have the one without the other.'

Kyle tried to pull his hands away. 'I don't want to hear your stupid story.'

'Hold up, Kyle. I'm not finished yet.' Cartman held onto his hands tighter before continuing.

'It wasn't long before the Jew started to realize that his affection for the other was more than just platonic. It was, in fact… _love_.'

The very mention of the word sickened Cartman, but it was well worth it. The look of Kyle's face was priceless. The redhead looked as though he had been struck in the face, and Cartman was sure that he would burst into tears at any moment. But the game wasn't over just yet.

'The Jew was afraid of this. He was afraid that his hippie friend didn't feel the same. That he would hate him for it. That the Jew would lose the only friend he ever had.'

Kyle's lips trembled. His break down was imminent. Cartman could feel it, the defensive walls Kyle had spent so long building around himself crumbling apart.

Cartman held of the redhead's chin, leaning in to whisper the words. 'Just say it, Kyle. Say the words. The words you've wanted to say for so long. Don't you want to free yourself?'

Kyle held back a whimper. Cartman was surprised he hasn't cried yet. _Come on. Say it. Say it. I need to know for sure._

'Kyle… I'll make this easier for you. Do you love Stan? Answer me.' The brunette was getting slightly agitated, pulling Kyle's face closer.

The ginger inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, shaking uncontrollably. When he opened his eyes, the hurt in his expression was gone.

'As if you care what I think of Stan, fatass.' Kyle hissed, having regained the strength in his voice. 'What's it to you whether I'm gay or not?'

Cartman was taken aback. He opened his mouth to retort, but Kyle stopped him short.

'And you know what I think, Cartman? I think _you_ put that book together to humiliate us all, and now you're playing detective so it doesn't look like you did it. If any one of us is screwed up enough to distribute gay pornography of their classmates, it's _you_.'

Cartman felt the Jew slipping out of his grasp, once again escaping his snare. _Dammit. _He felt his blood boil. He stood up abruptly.

'Shut the fuck up, Kyle.' He growled. 'I know you like reading those gay little stories about you. I bet you could come up with kinkier shit, too. You and Stan, you and Kenny…. Doing things you can't even speak of. Fuck, Kyle. I've even seen a story or two about us.'

The tubby brunette glared intensely at the redhead, his expression now much darker. 'So fucking tell me. Tell me it's Stan you want.'

Kyle stared back in confusion, unsure of what Cartman's motives were. He sensed a hint of suppressed pain in Cartman's voice, an emotion he'd never heard in his voice before.

'Look… Forget 'My Ships'.' Cartman chuckled nervously. 'It doesn't even matter who wrote it, does it? What does matter, is what you _feel_. What do you feel, Kyle?'

'Cartman, I don't understand…'

Cartman narrowed his eyes. 'So you wanna play it that way? Alright, then. We'll play it that way. Butters, get the box.'

Butters hurried into the room, glancing uneasily between Kyle and Cartman.

'Are you sure, Eric? I don't know if that's such a –uh- great idea.'

'Just get the box!'

Kyle wriggled around in his seat. 'What's in the box?'

'So you're afraid now, aren't you?' Cartman relished the uncertainty in Kyle's eyes. 'You'll find out pretty soon.'

'Here you go, Eric.' Butters timidly passed a wooden crate to Cartman.

Cartman smiled deviously as he slowly lifted the lid off the box, keeping Kyle in suspense and anxiety for as long as possible. He reached his hand in and pulled out the vilest thing on earth – well, second vilest next to Cartman.

The brunette waved a putridly yellow banana in front on Kyle's face. 'Look, Kyle. It's your favorite fruit!'

'Eugh…. get that out of my face!' Kyle turned his face away from the disgusting fruit. 'It smells.'

'What's that? You want to eat it?' Cartman mocked. 'Ah, but you can't because you're all tied up! Here, I'll help you.' He peeled the banana open.

'Cartman, stop it! This isn't funny!'Kyle writhed in his chair, struggling to free himself.

'Oh, but it is…' Cartman cackled as he moved the banana closer to Kyle. 'Open wide.'

Kyle twisted and turned his head to avoid the yellow monstrosity, all the while keeping his mouth closed shut.

'Now, if you told me the truth…' Cartman held Kyle's face in his hand. 'I'd let you go.'

Kyle glared at Cartman. '…Go to hell, fatass.'

A loud clatter made the two of them jump. Butters yelped.

'E-Eric, I think someone's here!'

'Shit.' Cartman seethed.

'What the hell's going on?' A familiar voice said.

'Stan?' Kyle twisted his head back towards the voice, his eyes gleaming.

'Oh no, you don't!' Cartman strode towards Stan.

'I'm getting the heck out of here!' Butters wailed.

There was a loud thud, followed by the sound of several more punches and curses.

'Guys, what's going on? Stan?' Kyle rocked his chair side to side in an attempt to turn around, but to no avail. He couldn't see what was going on behind him.

'Die, hippie!'

'Screw you, fatass!'

After several more thwacks, silence fell.

'Stan?' Kyle asked hopefully.

'Don't… worry.' Stan panted as he untied the ropes around Kyle's chest. 'I'm… here.'

'How did you know I was here?'

'There was… this note on my door. Something about you being held hostage in Cartman's basement. I ran here as fast as I could.'

Stan stayed quiet for a moment as he struggled to untie the rope holding Kyle's feet together. 'Dude, I can't untie this.'

'Then cut it.'

Cartman groaned. He was starting to come back to consciousness.

'Crap.' Stan whispered. 'We have to go now, he's gonna wake up.'

'Then hurry.'

'I can't! I'll… I'll just have to carry you.'

'What?!'

Stan picked up the redhead. 'Hey, you're pretty light.'

'Shut up and get me out of here!' Kyle hissed.

Stan carefully stepped around Cartman, who had passed out on the floor, and hopped up the stairs to leave the basement.

'Heh…' Cartman laughed weakly, his face still rested on the cold floor. _What was I even looking for? A confession? Don't be an idiot._

The whole time he had been trying to get Kyle to admit it. To admit he was in love with Stan. But perhaps he had hoped to hear something different…

_Don't lose sight of your goal. Don't forget …_

Yes. He couldn't forget. He couldn't let this little snag ruin his perfect plan. He wasn't going to let this little Jew screw it all up.

There was still much to do.

* * *

Stan set Kyle down on the floor and closed the door behind him. He sighed in relief.

'You still need to untie me.'

'Oh. Right.' Stan reached for a pair of scissors on his desk and knelt down to cut away at the rope around Kyle's feet.

'Is…um.' Stan looked up at Kyle shyly. 'Is that my shirt you're wearing? I meant to ask earlier but…'

Kyle looked down at his chest and realized with mortification that Stan was right. This oversized grey t-shirt was Stan's. He didn't expect Stan to visit him, so he wasn't exactly prepared to explain.

'I… uh… yeah, it is.' Kyle's face felt like it was on fire. 'You left it at my house from one of our sleepovers and I never got around to giving back, I guess.' He hesitantly glanced up to see Stan's reaction.

The blue eyed boy burst into laughter.

'What? I-It's really comfy.' Kyle said, feeling defensive. At that moment he felt very conscious of his exposed shoulder.

Stan, as if he had read his mind, reached over to pull the sleeve back up. 'Guess you really missed your super best friend, huh?' He smiled teasingly.

'Yeah, well…' Kyle looked away. 'I didn't think we were still super best friends.'

'Just saying we aren't isn't gonna end it just like that. You'll have to try harder to get rid of me.' Stan chuckled. He cut through the rope around Kyle's feet.

The redhead presented his tied up hands to Stan trying to keep his voice leveled. 'Just untie me.'

Stan looked at Kyle for a moment, his heart fluttering in anticipation of what he was about to say. The dark haired boy took a deep breath and exhaled, proceeding to undo the knot around Kyle's wrists.

'There's something I wanted to tell you before…' Stan's hands gently brushed against Kyle's, lingering long enough to make Kyle blush. 'But I kind of blew at making an apology so I'll try again. That story we read about us… It isn't shitty. And it does apply to us.'

Kyle looked up at Stan. 'It does?'

'Yeah… I mean… I…' Stan hesitated, his eyes focused on the rope he was cutting. 'I… don't think it's that far of a stretch of imagination for us to be together.'

Kyle stayed silent, his mind in a whirlwind of thoughts. This couldn't be happening. Stan couldn't possibly be saying something like this. His breath quickened.

'Kyle, I…' Stan cut through the rope around the redhead's wrists. 'I love you. But not just as a friend, or a super best friend. I love you more than that. And that book kinda helped me realize that.'

'Stan…' Kyle's voice was almost a whisper.

'If you don't feel the same then that's okay. I just… didn't want you to think I don't care about you.'

Stan was still holding onto Kyle's wrists, caressing them reassuringly. Kyle wondered if he could feel his heartbeat racing.

'Stan, I need to tell you something, too.'

'What is it?' Stan looked up.

'Please don't look at me when I say this.' Kyle flushed.

Stan closed his eyes, a charming smile playing on his lips. 'Okay. Tell me.'

Kyle took a deep breath and exhaled. 'I wrote that story about us.'

Stan's eyes snapped open. 'What?!'

'Shhh! Look, it… it wasn't supposed to end up in that book. I don't know how it even got there.'

'So… everything else in that book isn't yours?'

Kyle shook his head. 'Only the first story was mine. I wrote it about a week ago. But no one was supposed to read it. Especially not _you_!' He pulled away his hands to cover his face.

'Dude…I-'

'I know! It's weird and I shouldn't have even thought about writing something stupid like that, but I… I had things I wanted to say to you that I couldn't. Things I felt that I shouldn't feel-'

'I wasn't stupid for you to write it.' Stan took hold of Kyle's hands. 'What you feel is what you feel. There's nothing wrong with that.'

Kyle slowly looked up at Stan, finding it difficult just to make eye contact.

'And besides… you've got more guts than I do. I mean, putting those feelings into words… That's something I wouldn't have been able to do.'

His eyes met Kyle's, and suddenly Kyle felt like he could see everything in those two deep blue oceans. He realized that their faces were very close, and there was the urge to close that gap between them.

'Kyle… I'm gonna be honest with you,' Stan went pale, his voice soft and quiet. 'I'm starting to feel a bit sick.'

Kyle laughed nervously. 'I'm not feeling too good either. I can't stop shaking.'

The two sat there on the floor wordlessly for a moment, the only light source being the moonlight from Stan's window. The world was quiet, and it was as if time itself had stopped.

Stan brushed red curls away from Kyle's face and leaned forward, both of them closing their eyes as he did so. Kyle felt his heart flutter as their lips molded together. He felt like butterflies were going to burst out of his chest at any moment.

When they finally pulled away, Kyle felt his face heat up at the realization of what had just happened.

'You blush so much, Kyle.' Stan teased, affectionately stroking the side of Kyle's red face.

'Shut up.' Kyle looked away, although he couldn't help but smile.

Stan pressed his lips to Kyle's again, this time more confidently. Kyle traced the outline of Stan's jaw, wanting to memorize the moment, to burn it into his mind.

'Hey, you know what we should do?' Stan pulled away and looked at Kyle with a gleam in his eyes. 'Let's play Ookie Mouth!'

'Dude.' Kyle stared blankly at Stan.

'I'm joking.' Stan chuckled. 'Besides, we've already shared spit so it's no big deal anymore!'

'What haven't we done together?' Kyle added jokingly.

Their laughter quickly died off as the same thought entered their heads. They looked at each other awkwardly.

Stan's forwardness with Kyle was quickly replaced with anxiety. 'I think I'm gonna be s-'

The raven haired boy got up and rushed out of the room.

'Stan?' Kyle called out worriedly. He got up to follow him.

Kyle knocked on the bathroom door. 'You okay?'

He could hear Stan breathing heavily. 'Yeah… I'm… I'm fine. I'll be there in a sec.'

Kyle walked back to Stan's room. This all felt so unreal. _Did Stan just kiss me?_ Kyle suddenly had the horrible thought that it was all a dream, that he would wake up and none of this would have mattered. Kyle decided that he was being ridiculous, that he couldn't be dreaming, not if he could so vividly remember the warmth of Stan's lips as they pressed against his. He let himself fall onto Stan's bed, curling up on the edge of the bed, facing the door.

After a moment, Stan returned and closed the door behind him shakily. 'Sorry about that. Just a little nervous, that's all.' He smiled weakly.

'It's fine...' Kyle drawled out the words sleepily. He glanced at the clock. It was almost 5 a.m.

Stan took off his shoes and climbed over Kyle to lie next to him. He wrapped his arms around the redhead and kissed him gently on the cheek. Kyle sighed contentedly.

'Kyle?' Stan whispered into his ear.

'Yeah?'

'_My funny valentine. Sweet, ginger valentine.' _Stan sung quietly. '_You make me smile with my heart...'_

Kyle turned his head to look at Stan, feeling his face flush again. Stan chuckled in response.

'_But don't change a red hair for me_.' Stan stroked Kyle's hair as he continued to sing softly._ 'Not if you care for me. Stay, ginger valentine… Stay…' _

Kyle wanted to drown in Stan's voice, to melt into his arms. He intertwined his fingers with Stan's and let himself drift away.

_'__Each day is Valentine's day….'_

Stan buried his face in Kyle's neck and closed his eyes, feeling like it was just him and Kyle in the world, and that there was nothing more perfect than this.


	8. Guardian Angel in Disguise

**Last chapter! Enjoy~**

* * *

'Everyone shut up!' Cartman banged his fist on the table. 'Now if you don't mind, I've invited you all to my basement for a very important and dramatic reveal.'

'I thought this was a pizza party.' said Craig.

'It is.' Cartman replied angrily. 'But you have to stay for my speech before you get the pizza.'

'Dude,' Kyle whispered to Stan, who was seated next to him at the conference table. 'Should we even be here? I mean, this guy freakin' tried to kidnap me last night.'

'I wanna know who wrote the book.' Stan replied blankly.

'Thanks for the support.' Kyle rolled his eyes.

'Come on.' Stan bumped his shoulder against Kyle's. 'I saved you, didn't I? Your _prince charming?_' He smiled teasingly and took hold of Kyle's hand underneath the table, earning a flushed look from the redhead.

The tubby brunette stood up from his seat, cleared his throat loudly, and began to pace around the conference table.

'Now, for the past few days many of you will have probably read a strange new book called 'My Ships'. Some of you will have wondered how a person could write such vile and evil things. A few of you have even aided me in trying to find this twisted individual. Who wrote it, and why? That is the very question I will answer today.

'But before we go around pointing fingers, we must determine the object of this horrendous crime. This book – that was distributed indiscriminately around South Park– contains gay pornographic 'literature'. There are graphic descriptions of homosexual activity between members of our class. Everyone – and I mean everyone – is a victim here. All except for one individual - one such individual who relishes our humiliation, who seeks to degrade us and defile our dignity!'

Cartman stopped in his tracks as he reached the space behind Kyle's seat. Stan, who sat next him, glanced at the brunette with uncertainty. He knew Cartman was about to start spewing out his usual slur of insults at Kyle, but he was hoping that maybe Cartman would be past this by now. Maybe.

'That individual's identity is made apparent when inspecting the evidence. The content of the book tells us much about the writer. For instance, why is it that nearly all of the stories star Kyle?' Cartman put his hands on Kyle's shoulders, who immediately tensed up and looked like he wanted to curl into a little ball, away from Cartman's grasp. 'Perhaps it is because our dear Kyle here would like to see himself as the main object of such perversion. Perhaps he himself has homosexual fantasies about his classmates, thinking of unspeakable acts when Clyde eats his sandwich provocatively, for instance –'

'I eat my lunch provocatively?' Clyde asked, looking around the table. He was answered by a unanimous nodding of the heads, including Kyle himself. He didn't know how, or why, but Clyde always made these strange little noises while he ate. Not that Kyle actually found them 'provocative', but he could see why people like Cartman might think otherwise.

Cartman continued with his speech. 'Or relishing the moment when he 'accidentally' brushes his hand on your ass in the hallway.'

'Get your hands off of me and make your point, fatass.' Kyle snapped, shrinking his shoulders away in an attempt to get the brunette off of him.

'Perhaps the most incriminating evidence of all is the fact that the handwriting in this book,' Cartman opened up the book to the first page and displayed it for everyone to see. '…Matches Kyle's handwriting.'

Everyone gasped. Kyle shifted in his seat, feeling scrutinized and very uncomfortable. Stan noticed this and squeezed his hand reassuringly. This made Kyle feel somewhat better, although he still wanted to get the hell out of there. He just wanted to curl up underneath Stan's warm bed sheets, and maybe have him sing that song again. Thinking about it made him melt inside.

Cartman's harsh voice pulled Kyle back down to reality, snapping him out of his momentary bliss.

'Now why would Kyle write about us being gay? I'll tell you why. Because he's a dirty, no-good Jew that wants to humiliate me and tarnish my reputation. He's a soulless ginger, and shows no remorse whatsoever!' Cartman raised his voice. 'So what shall we do about this? Well, I say we kill him!'

'That's enough!' Stan stood up.

'That's right! We've had enough, Stan!' Cartman yelled. 'So help me get rid of this stinking je-'

'No, I've had enough of _you_, Cartman!' Stan interrupted. 'So maybe you don't like gay stories. That's fine. You hate Kyle, that's fine too. But I won't let you terrorize him and treat him like he's dirt! How many times has he saved your ass when you needed it most? When you fused with a Trapper Keeper and became a gigantic blob monster, who saved you? Kyle did. Or how about when you were about to embarrass yourself on national television because you were pretending to have Tourettes syndrome? Who save you then? Kyle did. And who saved you when you were about to be raped by Snooki? Kyle did. As much as he hates to admit it, he's still your friend. So for once just fucking act like it!'

There was a moment of silence. Stan glared at the tubby brunette, a darkness in his eyes that Kyle almost never saw. In fact, he was pretty sure he's never seen Stan this pissed off. Even so, he felt a strange pride in having Stan shout at Cartman like that.

Stan grabbed Cartman by the collar of his shirt. 'And if you so much as touch a red hair on his head… I will make sure you pay for the pain you've caused him throughout your entire life a thousand-fold greater. Because he's not just my super best friend,'

Stan released Cartman and looked over at Kyle. '…He's my valentine.' Stan smiled affectionately at the redhead.

Kyle's emerald eyes lit up, feeling his face heat up. There was that feeling of butterflies in his chest again. He got up to throw his arms around Stan and kissed him on the lips as he did so, not giving notice to Cartman's bewildered look – as much as Kyle would have liked to see that.

Stan, as if having forgotten that a roomful of eyes were watching, wrapped his arms around Kyle and kissed back passionately. When they both pulled back, breathless, they looked around awkwardly.

'So, um… yeah. We're gay.' Stan spoke sheepishly, his arm around Kyle's waist.

Wendy, to Stan's surprise, started to clap. Eventually the whole room was clapping, congratulating the two.

'I've been waiting too goddamn long to see you two get together!' Someone shouted, although it wasn't clear who that person was amidst all the clapping and chattering.

'Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,' Kenny interjected from across the room. 'But I'm afraid Cartman's painted a very inaccurate picture of events. Allow me to clarify –'

'No, Kenny! I won't let you steal my thunder!' Cartman scrambled his way across the room towards Kenny. 'This was _my_ case! _My_ mystery to solve!'

'Ah, but you see…' Kenny threw off his jacket to reveal a Victorian style suit. 'I even dressed for the occasion!' The blonde pulled out a pipe. 'You've had your say, now it's my turn. Unless you'd like me to share the reason you're so adamant about finding the culprit…'

'What are you talking about?' Cartman glared at Kenny.

'Might as well get it out in the open.' Kenny ignored his question and opened up his tattered copy of 'My Ships'. He cleared his throat before reading the text out loud.

_Jews. Gingers. New Jersey. Three things that Cartman hated with every bone in his body, and the only thing he hated more was the very embodiment of those three things; Kyle Brofloski. That damn ginger with his devious little snake eyes. Always sticking his nose where it didn't belong, meddling with anything Cartman had ever tried to do. He couldn't stand Kyle. And yet, almost paradoxically, he couldn't live without him. He was like…homework. No one likes homework. Especially Cartman. Who would? With all its demands and know-it-all attitude, giving you orders, then telling you how you went wrong – it's almost like it set you up to disappoint. _

_But even though he hated homework, wished it would die from HIV or something, he just had to do it. _

'Ahahahaha!' Craig was the first to burst out laughing, soon followed by the entire room.

'H-Homework? Really?' Clyde snickered, tears falling from his eyes.

Kyle cringed. 'Dude…'

'I think you've made your point, Kenny!' Cartman grabbed the book out of the blonde's hands.

'But that's just the beginning! You see, if Kyle was the writer, would he be repulsed by his own supposed fantasy?' Kenny motioned towards Kyle. 'I believe the picture Cartman has just painted of our culprit is far from the truth.' Kenny lit up his pipe and puffed out a ring of smoke.

'In order to find our culprit, we must first understand his or her mind. What kind of individual would commit such an act? As Cartman pointed out, the use of Kyle as a starring role is frequent. However, that does not mean he is the writer. On the contrary, it means that he is simply the proxy through whom the writer lives him or herself through. The acts described in this book are graphic and most definitely the stuff of fantasy. Naturally, the protagonist would be the ideal version of the writer. Kyle is someone that this writer looks up to, sees as a role model of some sort.

'It came into my notice that of twenty-eight stories in this book, nine are about Kyle and Cartman partaking in intimate activities. And by intimate I mean hardcore gay stuff. Like… Seriously super gay stuff.'

'Aw-aww!' Kyle scrunched up his nose in disgust.

'That's pretty fucked up.' Stan added, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of someone fantasizing Kyle being the subject of Cartman's perversions, his grip around Kyle tightening a little.

'Naturally,' Kenny continued. '…it would be safe to assume that Cartman is the true main object of obsession. The writer is completely and utterly fixated on Cartman, perhaps even infatuated with him.'

'Then why aren't all of the stories about Cartman?' Token asked.

'I'm glad you pointed that out, Token. This is where it gets interesting.' The blonde slowly paced around the table in the same manner as Cartman did – albeit more elegantly. 'You see, while Cartman brilliantly deduced that the handwriting of the first story matched Kyle's, he largely overlooked that the handwriting was different for the rest of the book. Why is this so? This got the little grey cells working.' Kenny tapped his forehead and assumed a slightly French accent. 'Because zis information can only make sense in light of zee fact that there must have been a _second_ writer, no?'

'Dude, since when did Kenny sound like a French detective?' Stan asked.

'It's a Belgian accent!' Kenny snapped. 'It's freaking Belgian! Get it right!'

Stan looked to Kyle with uncertainty, as if to ask for further explanation.

'He's imitating Hercules Poirot.' Kyle stated like it was an obvious answer.

'But I thought he was imitating Sherlock.' said Stan, to which Kyle shrugged.

'Quiet!' Kenny gave Stan a pointed look. 'As I was saying… This second writer must be the true culprit, perhaps influenced by the discovery of Kyle's story. After having read said material, the culprit was inspired to write more. In the beginning it was merely experimental, as seen by the mediocre and almost awkward writing style in the first half of the book – Mon dieu, it was horrific writing! But the more the culprit wrote, the more confident and audacious they became. They began to incorporate more daring and edgy dialogue, even went as far as to include their beloved obsession – Cartman.

'And yet, they still lacked the confidence to include themselves in their own stories. It came into my notice that this book has almost every pairing possible. I say _almost_ because there is one individual who is completely absent from this book. Following my line of logic, this person should be the writer. And this individual is…'

Kenny took a dramatic pause, perhaps for too long.

'Just fucking tell us!' said Craig.

'This individual… is Butters.'

The room went quiet, everyone turning towards the timid blonde, who looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

'I-I- That's a lie!'

'It's not a lie. And Wendy can confirm that.' Kenny turned towards Wendy. 'Tell them, s'il vous plait.'

Wendy nodded. 'It was about a week ago that Bebe and I found a piece of notebook paper. It was the Stan and Kyle chapter from the book. I recognized the orange border on the page as Kyle's. He had already left the classroom, so I thought I'd just leave it on his desk. But just as Bebe and I were leaving, we saw someone go over to his desk and take it.'

'And who was this person, mon cherie?' Kenny asked.

'It was Butters.' Wendy answered, almost apologetically.

'Well, there we have it, monsieurs.' Kenny gestured towards Butters. 'Our culprit!'

The room stayed quiet. No one really knew what to do. After all, what was the point of all this again?

'B-Butters? _You_ were the one who wrote that shit?' Cartman yelled. 'I'll kick you in the nuts so hard you'll squeal like a little piggy!'

Butters yelped and ducked underneath the table. 'Aagh!'

'Get back here you piece of shit!' Cartman strode over to Butters' seat, reaching for Butters. 'You fucking humiliated me!'

'Yes. Yes I did.' Butters arose from beneath the table, dressed in a green cape and tin foil helmet. 'It all went according to plan, for I am Professor Chaos!'

'Jesus, he still does that?' Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. They had all outgrown their super hero obsessions long ago, yet it made sense that someone like Butters would still hold on to his alternate persona – even if he looked utterly ridiculous in his undersized flashy outfit.

'B-behold my terrifying glory! Cower in fear of m-my –uh- destructive literature!' Butters climbed up onto the table, Cartman too stunned to respond. 'None of you even suspected your fellow classmate Butters, but it was me all along! I wreaked havoc upon South Park and there was nothing you could do about it!'

'Hold up…' Kenny rubbed the temples of his forehead, instantly dropping the accent. 'I-I thought you wrote 'My Ships' because you wanted to indirectly declare your love for Cartman.'

'Well… n-no. I'm not –uh – gay.' Butters looked down at his shoes. 'I just wanted to show that I'm not just some w-weakling! At first this book was private, just for me. But then I started to really get attached to my pairings. I wanted them to be real. So I thought if I showed everyone, they'd see what I saw. They'd see that these couples were right for each other. My stories might just become reality.'

Butters stepped down from the table and threw off his cape. 'But I feel pretty stupid now. I mean, my book really is shitty. It's not really a story. It's just a bunch of misinterpretations taken too far. Who actually thinks that because Tweek and Craig had a big fight in 3rd grade that there's something more going on? That they had some sort of romantic feelings for each other? I mean, that's just ridiculous when you think about it.'

'Except it's not.' said Craig.

'What…?' Butters looked at the dark haired boy.

'I said it's not. Because if it was, then I wouldn't be doing this.' Craig pulled Tweek over to his seat and kissed him passionately for everyone to see.

'What the fuck?' Cartman looked annoyed - almost disappointed, strangely enough. 'So you read a gay story and now you're making out with Tweek? How is that even-'

'If it wasn't for you sharing Kyle's story I wouldn't have realized I was in love with him.' Stan interrupted. 'We both felt the same but we were both too shy to even admit it. 'My Ships' got it all out in the open. So you shouldn't feel stupid, Butters.'

'And who's to say that your story is shitty?' Kyle added. 'You put just as much effort into that book as any other author. Sure, it might not get up on its high horse with symbolism and morals, but that's not what makes your expression of emotion valid. You brought to life a vision – as smutty or as crazy as that vision might be – and that's all that matters.'

Butters eyes started to water. 'Why are you guys so nice to me? You make it so difficult to be Professor Chaos when you start talking like that!' Butters threw off his helmet and leapt onto Stan and Kyle for a hug, wailing.

Stan and Kyle chuckled lightly, feeling just a little bit awkward as the blonde was smearing his tears all over their shirts. By this point people started to realize that there was no pizza – then again, what did they expect from Cartman? – and began to clear out of the basement.

'That's okay, Butters…' Kyle patted the blonde on the head. 'We just thought it was the right thing to say.'

'Don't mind me…' Kenny nonchalantly pushed Butters away and hugged Kyle. 'Isn't this nice?'

'Kenny.' Kyle glared at the blonde. 'Get off.'

Kenny let out a disappointed sigh. 'I'm guessing there's no chance of us working out with this guy in the way.' He indicated towards Stan.

'I have a name you know.' The dark haired boy growled.

'Anyway. Call me if things don't work out. Or if you prefer,' Kenny leaned in towards Kyle's face. 'I'm up for some ménage au trois, if you know what I mean…'

'I know what you mean, Kenny. And the answer is no.' Kyle answered bluntly.

'You're so cold to me, my ginger pixie!' Kenny pouted.

Stan stifled a laugh. 'Ginger pixie?'

'Don't even get me started.' Kyle exasperated.

'Watson?' A foreign voice from the foot of the stairs. Kyle and Stan looked over to the source of the voice, finding a dark haired man who looked weathered and rugged. His clothes were singed, and he was in desperate need of a shave. And a bath. And maybe some medication for good measure.

'Oh shit! It's Benedict Bumbercrotch!' Tweek shrieked, grabbing Craig's arm frantically. 'Jesus Christ! I thought he was dead! C-Craig, we need to get the hell out of here! Aagh!'

Craig looked at the dark haired man warily. 'Come on, Tweek. Let's go.' Although, Kyle was sure he had seen a tiny little smirk on Craig's face, presumably enjoying the fact that Tweek sought his protection.

'My _name_ is Benedict Cumber- Excuse me, I mean Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.' The man said irritably in response, despite the fact that Tweek and Craig had already left. Just as Kenny walked past him, Sherlock grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

'Dude, what the fuck?' Kenny glanced angrily at Sherlock. He was all bubbly and cheerful when it came to Kyle – or maybe even Stan – but when it came to strangers he didn't put up with any of their shit. Especially not from this weird looking lunatic, who was glaring back at him with a hungry look.

'Watson…' The man's voice was shaky. 'You-You came back.'

Kenny was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing a full Victorian style suit. 'Oh… yeah, no. I'm … uh… supposed to be Sherlock. That's why I've got the whole pipe thing going on, you know? Watson's the wussy dude that follows him around.' Kenny explained, hoping this would somehow clear up what he hoped was just a simple misunderstanding.

The man roared in laughter. 'Oh, Watson! Your jokes never cease to crack me up! Come on, now. Let's go.' He tugged at Kenny's arm, intent on taking him with him.

'Dude. Seriously. I'm not Watson.'

The dark haired man turned to him, his expression softer. 'You… Do you really want me to?'

Kenny's eyes widened in puzzlement. 'Eh?'

'Fine. I'll say it.' Sherlock grabbed Kenny' by the shoulders. 'I love you, Watson.' Before Kenny could protest, Sherlock had already drawn him in for a stubbly kiss. And strangely enough, Kenny didn't seem to mind all that much. In fact, he rather enjoyed it – so much so that he pulled Sherlock's head down to get closer.

When they broke away from embrace, the first thing Kenny noticed was the horrified expressions on Stan and Kyle's faces, who had witnessed the whole ordeal. And then he realized that, actually, this Sherlock dude was pretty hot.

'So what do you say we run away, Watson?' Sherlock held Kenny's face. 'Let's just go wherever ! Anywhere! And we can do whatever we want. Whatever _you_ want! We'll stay up 'till the sun rises. We'll travel to distant foreign lands. Hell, we can even go back to solving crimes! Just you and me. What do you say?'

'Solving crimes? Adventuring? With you?' Kenny seemed to consider this, although it was pretty clear from the gleam in his eyes that he had already decided. 'Let's do it!'

Sherlock lifted Kenny up in joy, spinning him around and kissing him once more. 'Oh, I'm so happy, Watson!'

Stan and Kyle watched the two leave, their mouths gaping in disbelief, Kenny giving Kyle a wink and an 'Au revoir!'. Kyle wasn't sure whether he should report this to the police or just smile and wish them good luck. Then again, Kenny's lived through pretty much any shit the universe has thrown at him, so he was sure he'd be fine.

'Hey.' Stan half-whispered.

'Yeah?' Kyle said absent mindedly, thinking about Stan picking him up in the air like that and taking him away to some distant land, never to return to South Park. They would probably have to stay in some cheap-ass motel, but Stan would keep him warm at night, wrapped around him like a cocoon.

'There's something I forgot to give you yesterday.' Stan shuffled in his bag to look for something. He pulled out a green ushanka.

'You still have my hat!' He chuckled as Stan placed the hat on Kyle's head. He had almost forgotten about it, even though this was pretty unusual considering that he normally wore it all the time.

'Yeah… I kinda liked having it as a pillow to be honest.' Stan looked down, his face a little flushed. 'But I figured you would want it back, so…'

Kyle looked at Stan for a moment and smiled, not saying anything.

'What?' Stan looked up.

'Nothing.' Kyle said, placing his hands on Stan's shoulders. 'Just that it's not often I get to see _you_ blush.'

'Oh _please_, get a room so you can make out.' Cartman mocked. They forgot that they were still in Cartman's basement. And that Cartman had been waiting for them to leave.

'Maybe we will.' Kyle ran his hand through the back of Stan's hair, leaning closer as if to test both Cartman's patience and the fragile state of Stan's pounding heart.

Cartman exhaled noisily in frustration. 'You know what, screw you guys. Seriously. Screw. You. Guys.' And with that the tubby brunette left the room.

Kyle exhaled in relief, although his hand was still in Stan's hair, now making circular motions. 'God, he pisses me off.'

Stan, finding Kyle's little fit endearing, leant down to peck him on the forehead. 'Let's go over to my place. We can go break the news to my parents in the bluntest way possible. Payback for all the crazy shit my dad's given me all my life. How's that sound?'

Kyle chuckled. 'Sounds good.'

The sound of a door locking made them both freeze.

'Did… Cartman just lock us in?' Kyle glanced uneasily at the door.

'Okay… What the fuck is this?' Stan walked over to the table, which now had a whole bunch of stuff on it. Monopoly. Some jigsaw puzzles. Cheesy poofs. A box full of chocolates. Scented candles. There was even something frilly sticking out of a bag. If Stan could give a wild guess, he'd say it almost looked like a French maid's outfit.

An unlabeled bottle caught Kyle's eye. He went over to pick it up and get a closer look - quickly regretting doing so and dropping the bottle like it was rat poison.

'Dude, what is that?' Stan asked.

'Er… um.' Kyle flustered. 'M-Massage oil. I think.'

'What?!' Stan's eyes widened, his cheeks coloring. 'You-You don't think Cartman left that here? For us?'

'Doesn't it sound familiar?' said Kyle, avoiding eye contact as he did so. 'Remember fourth grade? How Token and Nicole got together? And pretty much all of the 'minorities' in our class?'

'So… now he thinks fags should be together?'

Kyle gave Stan a pointed look, as if insulted by the word. Mostly because it was yet another slur for Cartman to use against him. Nevertheless, the puppy-eyed look Stan was giving him right now made him forget that this whole set-up was Cartman's doing. Kyle softened his expression.

'You know what? We'll let fatass win this time around.' Kyle slung his arms around Stan's neck, pulling him closer.

Stan put his arms around Kyle's waist, although his hands were shaking a little. 'You mean… use the massage oil?' His eyes looked into Kyle's with feigned innocence.

'Well, only if you want to. I don't know what kind of kinky shit you're into.' Kyle raised an eyebrow in the way that made Stan's breath quicken. Kyle didn't even realize how nervous he was making him.

'Judging from your story, I'd say _you_ were into some pretty kinky shit.' Stan smiled when he saw Kyle redden in response. God, he loved it when he blushed.

'Just kiss me alre-' Kyle was cut off by Stan's lips, warm and soft. He never thought he'd like the taste of his super best friend's lips, but here he was, savoring the flavor of Stan.

Stan hugged the redhead closer as he kissed him, sighing out contentedly as he did so. He didn't care that they were in Cartman's basement, or that the tube of massage oil seemed to glare at him expectedly from the table. Hell, he didn't even care that Butters had stuck around and was watching them from behind the rails of the stairs with a starry eyed look, thinking they hadn't noticed him. As far as he was concerned, this moment was perfect. Kyle was perfect. He was his funny valentine, and nothing would ever change that.

* * *

Cartman whistled as he locked the door securely and walked away, smiling to himself. He almost wanted to burst into laughter, his chest swelling with pride at his recent accomplishment. It felt good when his plans went well, even more so in the face of obstacles that were way out of his control. The minds and hearts of others were difficult to manipulate, let alone sway in your favor. And yet somehow, Cartman had managed. Of course this shouldn't be much of a surprise. He was Eric Cartman. And Eric Cartman always got his way.

But this time, something was different. For some reason, his victory felt… kind of empty. Sure, it was great that all his effort and work paid off. But somewhere along the way he stopped caring about the result. Where did he go wrong?

Was it when he had just discovered 'My Ships' and started reading it religiously, even though it repulsed him and made him want to gag? Was it when he started to actually feel embarrassed when other people read it?

After having discovered the scrappy little book in Butters' room, he had thought it was the most hilarious thing ever made. The sheer amount of mushy sentiment and gay smut crammed into one book, penned by the ever-so innocent Butters, was just too funny to ignore. How could he not show it to everyone?

Of course, simply doing that wasn't much fun. No… he needed to spice things up a little. Make the game last a little longer. So what better way than to do so than by convincing Butters – via anonymous letter, of course – that the contents of said book could become reality, if only people would read it, with the insistence that no one must know the identity of the writer. And thus… all hell broke loose. Doubt and gay angst was all over South Park, and it was all thanks to Cartman.

It was beautiful.

So when did it stop being about that? When did he start searching for something else?

Perhaps it was…. Cartman clenched his fist. Why was he doing this psychoanalysis shit? He didn't need to know _why _or _how._ His plan worked. That was all there was to it.

He flopped onto the living room couch and switched on the tv – effectively switching off his brain as he did so. Or at least that's what he had hoped to accomplish.

Memories tugged at him tenaciously, asking to be examined, to be revisited. _Goddammit. _He sighed and rubbed the temples of his forehead. Feelings like this – he didn't know what to call them quite yet - were so high maintenance.

So… when did things change? Perhaps it began with his strange dreams. Dreams of…

Cartman shuddered. Hearing it in his thoughts made him sick to his stomach. He pushed himself to continue.

Dreams of Kyle.

At first he just thought it was the poison of 'My Ships' polluting his mind, that it wasn't something he actually wanted. In fact, his dreams were never about _him_ and Kyle. They were always about Stan and Kyle. So he was sure that whatever this feeling was, it was because he thought Stan and Kyle belonged together.

'That's why you should be happy, Eric! Teehee!' A high-pitched voice spoke.

'I guess, Cupid Me.' Cartman sighed. Cupid Me was right. The real reason he set up this whole 'who-dunnit' fiasco was so that Stan and Kyle would get together. The reveal of the Stan and Kyle story, kidnapping Kyle, locking them in his basement. It was all staged so that they would finally realize what fags they were for each other. And it had worked.

So why the _fuck_ was he not happy?

'Eric… Maybe it was you who was in love with Kyle.'

'Shut the fuck up, Cupid Me!' Cartman snapped his head to the little creature to his right. 'As if I'm in love with that sneaky little Jew!'

'I'm just sayin'.'

'No. No, you're not 'just sayin'. You and I both agreed that gay hippies should be with each other, so naturally Stan and Kyle are freakin' butt buddies. Do I _look_ like a gay hippie to you?'

The little creature shrugged and faded away, leaving Cartman to untangle his goddamn thoughts on his own.

He sunk further down his seat and exhaled. Okay, so maybe there was a complication on the way, maybe he did feel a little something, but that didn't mean he didn't want Stan and Kyle to be together. They were so goddamn sweet with each other.

And… perhaps in spite of all the envy he felt, he couldn't help but feel happy for them. Cartman couldn't fool himself any longer with the lie that his satisfaction came with the flawless execution of his plan. No, he was happy because… Kyle was happy.

As much as he hated this little Jew, as much as he often grinned at the thought of causing him misfortune, nothing could actually compare to the warm, giddy feeling in his chest when Kyle smiled because of _him._ Sure, Kyle might have been blind to half the things Cartman did for him, but perhaps that's the way Cartman liked it. Maybe… Maybe he liked being Kyle's guardian angel in disguise.

Cartman smiled at that, feeling rather attached to his new title. Guardian angel in disguise. Yes, that's exactly how he would describe himself.

And then, for some reason, Cartman felt the need to laugh. He could feel these brand new sentiments bubbling up his throat, making him want to throw his arms in the air and laugh at everything. In fact, he found it unbearably funny that he was even feeling this. Never in a million years did Cartman think one devious little ginger would ever make his way into his heart like that.

After a fit of hearty chuckles and giggles, Cartman took a deep breath and smiled.

'That sweet, sneaky little Jew…'

**THE END**

* * *

**So there it is, the end to my first multi-chapter story! **

** Thank you for sticking around until the end, and I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews - they really made it worth posting this story. **

**I hope to write more SP fanfics in the near future - hence I would appreciate any feedback on this story! - and once again, thank you for reading!**


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